


Willing Participant

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Custody Arrangements, Daddy!Sandor, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happily Ever After, Planned Pregnancy, Pregnancy, Sexy Times, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Smuttysmuttysmutfest, Sperm Donor, and a little more smut, arrangement, lots of fluff, wtf there's no tag for that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-22 21:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Joffrey breaks up with Sansa for a shameless neighbor/hussy, shattering a certain dream Sansa has held very near and dear to her heart for a decade.Only Sandor has itinhim tocometo the rescue!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo...
> 
> I wrote this in two days because it was a cute idea that I just HAD to get out of my head. I hope you like it!
> 
> Man, I can't stand Joffrey. I get the creeps just writing his character...
> 
> This little fic is also written in a slightly different format, which quick changes in POV, all being between Sandor and Sansa.
> 
> Aaaaaand, not to be left out, a HUGE thank you to LadyCleganeofTheNorth, for putting up with my ramblings and multiple emails going over word choices, and for completely understating her talent when she initially emailed me about beta-ing my works.
> 
> Yeah, I said it. I called you out. You rock, woman.

“Joffrey, you can't do this! Please!”

His small, beady eyes barely focused on her, his mouth forming words that ripped through her sensitive heart. “No! I'm tired of you, Sansa. You're  _ boring! _ ” He pulled his arm out of her grasp. It had weakened with her despair as she realized her dreams were being washed down the drain with his rejection.

“But it's been years, Joff. It has always been our plan to get married and have a family. Are you just going to throw away the last ten years of our lives for  _ her?? _ ” There were tears on her pale cheeks as she said it, glancing out the window of her small cottage as he grabbed his lone suitcase. 

Outside, leaning against a new cherry red convertible stood Margaery. 

She was everything Sansa was not--petite, high maintenance, posh and fashionable, not to mention her perky personality and her penchant for being the life of the party.

A far cry from Sansa's more quiet, sensible personality; her tall, gangly figure, and soft-spoken ways. 

But ever since they were teens it had just been… just…  it had just been  _ understood! _ That they would marry, converge their life paths, and start a family!

And Joff was ruining it!

She frantically wiped at the tears, feeling her dream slip away as he gave one last glance around her living room. But there was nothing left--he’d never really bothered to make his mark on her home, which made the situation even more appalling that it was now so easy for him to erase his presence from her life.

A sob escaped her lips and as his roaming gaze passed over her, he sneered.

Then he was gone, leaving her door open as he jogged down the steps towards the woman whose house stood next door to his in his neighborhood. After tossing the suitcase in the backseat, he wrapped his thin arms around the brunette woman and swung her to the side, dipping her backwards and kissing her as though their romance was a great tale to be captured on film, their story now ready to begin.

Sansa shut her eyes before nudging the door shut, wrapping her arms around her middle as she avoided looking at the spectacle.

Back in her bedroom--had it ever really been  _ theirs? _ \--she walked around the tote he’d avoided while gathering his clothes. He had known what was in it but had refused to acknowledge it, saying instead that he had escaped her clutches just in time.

A collection of baby products--bulb syringe, oversized cotton swabs, medicine spoon, pacifiers, along with a rubber seat she thought a baby might like later on, several toys, and a plush yellow baby blanket she hadn't been able to resist when she'd seen it at the baby boutique.

The plan had been to get married this fall and begin their family. Joffrey had obviously gone against their agreements.

She removed the blanket from the tote and curled up in bed, holding it to her cheek as she mourned the children she now wasn't going to have.

•• **•** ••

Something was wrong with Sansa, and Ned wanted Sandor to find out what it was. Catelyn was concerned, he'd said. Their oldest daughter hadn’t answered their phone calls in almost a week and he was the only person they knew who lived close by whom they trusted.

So that's how he found himself at her doorstep an hour from his home on Saturday night, a bag of lemon muffins (her mom had told him they were Sansa's favorite) and two bottles of a sweet wine he thought she might like.

If not for his old friend Ned Stark finding him a security job when the Baratheons and Lannisters refused to get their shit together, Sandor would have had to leave town and find work elsewhere, as job opportunities in his field were still sparse after the recession. So yeah, he owed it to them to check up on the daughter he saw often at the family gatherings he was always invited to.

Despite the concern behind this visit, he couldn’t help but anticipate seeing her again. Not that he ever thought for even a moment that he had a chance with her--she being the beautiful redheaded goddess daughter of the affluent Stark family, and nearly twenty years his junior--but oh, she was a feast for his eyes and a treat for his soul.

Life had indeed dealt him a miserable hand, being born a Clegane and permanently disfigured by his asshole brother when he was a child.  _ It was just a fucking toy _ , he thought bitterly, even now, some thirty years after Gregor had shoved his face into the fireplace.

Too bad Gregor was dead. Sandor might have worked up the courage to beat the shit out of his big brother, had alcohol and drunk driving not done the job for him. 

When Gregor wrapped his car around that massive tree just off the freeway, Sandor, unfortunately, hadn’t been around to see it.

But it was just as well. Having Gregor gone from his life had afforded him now six years of a peace in his mind he hadn’t thought possible. And now he had been offered a chance to feast his eyes on the woman who had unknowingly captured his heart years ago when she was a teenager.

She had been the only one in the family back then to look at him, really  _ look _ at him. Ned seemed to take him for granted, Catelyn avoided him, and Arya was downright hostile towards him, as though the little she-wolf resented this big old dog for encroaching on her territory.

Luckily all the boys had been indifferent and were civil to him when they were faced with the opportunity to speak to him.

But it was Sansa who wore her heart on her sleeve--who appeared to cycle through her shock at his scars, her curiosity at this new man in their lives, and finally to acceptance of his role as her father’s friend and sometimes-attendee of family gatherings.

Not that she ever sought him out to speak to him, but when it was warranted, she was always polite, even as a fourteen-year-old girl.

Then she’d grown, and had developed into a young woman equally polite as her younger self, only now it was accompanied by the goodness of her spirit, the love for her family, and the quiet way she dealt with that asshat of a fiancé.

_ Gods _ , what a fucking cunt Joffrey was. But for some reason Sansa had gone along with the fantasy that joining those two affluent families would somehow make for a perfect happily ever after, if there even was such a fucking thing. Sandor doubted it.

But nevertheless, he’d looked forward to seeing her on the occasions he was invited to family dinners--holidays, birthdays, graduation parties, and whatnot. She was always there, always smiling, always fucking gorgeous with that straight, sleek flaming red hair and alabaster skin; skin that he could have sworn he’d seen freckles on when he’d been close enough to cast a glance at a bare shoulder or the back of her neck.

And Joffrey was usually there as well, part of the family even as a young teen now that they had made it known they would marry.

Literally, a walking asshole. Nothing but shit ever left that putrid, puckered mouth of his.

Which is why Sandor had reason to believe this silence from Sansa was caused by the little pimple. So when he knocked on her door and heard no reply despite her car being in the driveway, and the lights off inside the small house, he simply sought out the spare key Catelyn had told him about and let himself in.

•• **•** ••

Sansa wasn’t sure how long she cried into his chest, but it must have been a while because it became evident when she pulled away that he would likely be needing a clean shirt.

Sandor had found her in her bedroom, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep despite the fact that she had somehow laid there through lunch and into the evening. And when she saw his form blocking out much of the light from the hallway, knowing that her family had sent him because he lived somewhat close by, she didn’t bother to hold back her tears. In moments he was sitting on the edge of the bed with her, the sides of their legs pressed intimately together, while she pressed her face to the hard surface of him and sobbed, clinging to his shirt.

It wasn’t lost on her that his arm was around her, his massive paw spread over her side and holding her close while the other stroked her hair and her arm, comforting her in silence. Nor was it lost on her that it felt good, being held in arms twice the diameter of Joffrey’s, against a body that made her feel feminine and slight. Those thoughts, however, she managed to avoid as she processed the loss of her future and the hope she’d had for all of her plans.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, his voice a rumbling rasp that seemed to echo in her room despite his attempt at a hushed tone. At the shake of her head, he tilted her face up to look at him and used his thumb to wipe at the trails of tears beneath her eyes.

Sansa shook her head at his question, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, the familiarity and proximity between them not even awkward despite its unexpectedness.

•• **•** ••

Sandor watched as she picked at her muffin, having eaten barely half of it in the time it had taken him to eat three. 

“You need to eat, little bird.”

Sansa glanced up to where he sat across from her at her small table, and he felt her knees brush his beneath as she squirmed in her seat.

Looking back down at her muffin, her voice was a mumble as she spoke.

“Why would you call me that?”

Sandor huffed, gesturing at her plate.

“You’re eating like one. Finish, and tell me what’s going on.”

It took her ten minutes to eat the second half of her muffin. By the time she was done he’d already found everything he needed to make a pot of coffee, had poured two cups, sweetened hers, and set them on the coffee table in her small living room. Then he directed her to sit on the couch, informing her of her family’s worry.

Sansa took out her phone and shot off a quick message to her her parents, informing them that Sandor had arrived and that she was fine. Then she set the phone aside and inhaled a shaky breath, releasing it as she brought her gaze around to meet Sandor’s.

“It’s Joffrey,” she whispered, not looking at him. He watched as she closed her eyes, cradling the hot cup between her hands as she drew her knees up onto the couch, her feet tucked to the side. 

“What’s he done, now?” Sandor knew the little shit didn’t treat her the way she deserved, but he wondered at what the blonde boy could have done that would set her off like this.

Sansa sighed, her breath shaky as she let it out on a long exhale. She sipped her coffee, put it on the side table, and clasped her hands together.

“He dumped me,” she said, a beat before she looked over at him. Her gaze was watery, though she didn’t look about to cry again, which he was glad for. Sitting with her in his arms was near torture, despite being aware of why he was there in the first place. She smelled like flowers and a faint perfume, and he’d found himself wondering there in her bedroom whether it was her hair, her clothes, or if the fragrance would be found on her skin.

To distract himself from the visual of him using his nose over her naked body to discover the truth of it, he cursed.

“Fucking hells, Sansa. The boy is a shitbag who treats you like dirt.”

It was telling that she didn’t even flinch at his words. She  _ knew _ . The whole family knew that she knew.

Sandor went on, “If he’s gone then you’re well rid of him. Fucking cunt, needs to be horse whipped for some of the shit he’s done.” 

It was true. Rumors of Joffrey’s infidelity had circled within the two families, and his mistreatment for Sansa in public had steadily grown until even his own fucking parents sometimes winced at how he treated his supposed fiancée.

•• **•** ••

Sansa didn’t flinch at Sandor’s coarse words. They were all true, unfortunately, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the reason behind her tears. It almost seemed comical now, how both Joffrey and apparently Sandor assumed her tears were from losing Joffrey. 

No, she had long been resigned to that part of her life being a disappointment. 

But what wouldn’t have been a disappointment was the children Joffrey could have given her. How long had she dreamed of becoming a mother? Years, since her childhood. And she’d always imagined little blonde babies with Joffrey’s eyes and her smile.

No, that is what she mourned, and she told Sandor this, letting him in on the fact that she and Joffrey would likely have lived apart, as long as she had her children.

Sandor seemed shocked at this, and the confused expression on his face quickly morphed into anger, though she didn’t understand why.

“You mean to tell me, you were going to marry the little twat because he was willing to use you, to demean you, and the pleasant fucking side effect of that would be  _ children _ ?” He set his coffee cup down on the coffee table so hard it sloshed over the side.

“Sandor, it’s not like that. I would have been using him as well.”

“Fucking hells, Sansa! Do you even hear what you’re saying?” He threw up his hands, obviously disgusted by what he was hearing. He ran a hand back through his hair, exposing scars that once intimidated her but that now seemed as much a part of thim as his strong hands.

“I do, Sandor. All I wanted was to be a mom, and he’s taken that from me. We were months away from being married--and I was likely months away from becoming pregnant--” she paused as he winced, glancing at her before looking away again with a shake of his head. He cursed under his breath again, resting his fist against his mouth as though to ward off anything he might say that was unwise.

Or not, as his next words bit into her ego and raised her hackles.

“So what you’re saying is, you held onto a decade-old relationship for the sake of a sperm donor?” Now his eyes bored into hers, and she knew he was demanding an answer. “You wanted kids so bad that you would subject them to a loveless marriage, where their mom is a little bird, going through the motions, and their dad was a monumental fuckup of a human being?  _ Fucking hells _ , Sansa, I’m so fucking surprised at you.”

Outrage rose in her chest and her face dried, anger replacing her sorrow as she stared at him.

“It’s really none of your business, Sandor, what I do with my body and my life. Just because my parents sent you here to check on me doesn’t mean you’re free to be my counselor.”

He rounded on her, standing from the couch as he sarcastically threw at her, “If you needed a sperm donor, at least have enough respect for yourself to just go to a fucking bank.” He put his hands on his hips and paced away, but turned back to her suddenly, his eyes dark with anger. “Or ask someone who would actually respect you as a mother and a woman, for fuck’s sake. Not some little shitfaced, pompous socialite who sees you as a trophy wife to be set aside at his every whim.”

His words stung, but Sansa knew her anger was rising to match his. She stood, coming around the coffee table to stand before him.

“Who, Sandor? Who would I approach with a request like that? Joffrey was ideal--intelligent--” Sandor snorted, “--handsome, refined--”

“Handsome and refined as a pile of horse shit,” he spat out. He crossed those massive arms over his chest, and Sansa immediately recognized the defensive gesture.

“Why are you so upset by this, Sandor? It’s my life, my body, my future, my kids--”

“Because you deserve better! Sansa, don’t you see? You’re so far above him that he should be asking to clean your fucking shoes with a toothbrush. He’s a pompous little windbag, a waste of good air, and  _ you just fucking deserve better!!” _

His voice had risen, as had Sansa’s heart rate. But she wasn’t immune to his presence, as aware of it as she’d been over the last couple of years. Standing so close to him was like putting a large masterpiece in front of someone and telling them to focus on one little spot. Her eyes wanted to roam, even as his words incensed her.

“Like who, Sandor? Answer me.” He’d refused a moment ago, instead deflecting the conversation to focus on the quality of Joffrey’s character. But now she wanted to hear him give her a viable option. An alternative to the young man she’d given her virginity to, the Baratheon heir she had spent the better part of her teenage years pining for, the the following years of young adulthood resigning herself to the prospect of sharing a life with.

Sandor turned his back on her and she watched his shoulders rise and fall as his arms dropped, his deep breaths expanding his torso and stretching his t-shirt over well-formed muscles.

This man, who had been a near constant in her life for so many years, was worked up over his perceived mistreatment of her by her fiancé, and she wanted to know why. But as he turned to her, his mouth set in a firm line and his hands raising to rest on his hips, she wondered if pushing him to this point had been a good idea.

•• **•** ••

“Me,” he heard himself say, and he chose not to let his own shock show in his expression--instead schooling his features so he could be free to examine her reaction. 

And react she did--surprise and shock giving way to something that looked more like confusion and uncertainty. Despite the boldness of his proclamation, he didn’t want to wait around to see the anger or disapproval slide over her face.

He pushed past her, intent on grabbing his jacket and leaving, when he felt a small hand land on his arm for just a moment. He refused to turn around, but he did stop, and waited for her to say something.

“Sandor, I… What? What do you mean, you? Why say you, when you just told me I needed to go to a sperm bank?” He could picture her opening her mouth, closing it, gaping like a fish out of water as she tried to wrap her mind out of that one little word-- _ Me _ .

“You said,” she went on, “That I need to find someone who respects me as a woman, and who will respect me as a mom. What are you saying? You’re that man?”

He watched as she walked around to stand before him, though he saw no anger or condemnation on her face. Only that damned confusion as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Explain, Sandor,” she said, and he heard her talons in her voice.  _ A little bird, indeed,  _ he thought.

But there was no help for him in his thoughts, so he just chose to speak.

“Yes, me,” he supplied, looking into her eyes and daring her to break the contact. She didn’t, and it made him feel at once both nervous and bold. 

“Why you?” she asked, her voice quiet now, as though she genuinely wanted to hear his answer. He rolled his eyes, though he let them come back to rest on her.

“Because if you’re going to give your body to a man with the result of that union being a child, at least make it someone who could do what I said--respect you.  _ I _ respect you, Sansa. Could you ever say that of Joffrey? Was there  _ ever _ a time when he actually respected you?”

Sansa’s brows were drawn together, furrowed over confused eyes.

“But Sandor, you’re saying…” She swallowed, and he watched her gaze dart to his chest and back up, her tongue coming out to wet her lower lip. “You’re saying you’re willing to father a child with me.”

His nostrils flared, but he nodded. 

“You’re almost forty. If you were willing to do that now, why have you not done it before? With someone else?”

Sandor’s shoulders dropped. What the hell was she getting at?

“I don’t date, Sansa. If I had ever had the opportunity to, I might have. I’d be a better father than my own ever was. But that’s not what you want. You want a sperm donor.”

She flinched at the words, but nodded, surprising him.

•• **•** ••

“Yes, that  _ is _ what I said. But… If you… Would you  _ want _ to be? A father, that is? Because…” There was no help for her. She knew what he said was true--Joffrey would have been a sperm donor, and nothing more. She hadn’t looked forward to marriage to him--she’d looked forward to being the mother of his children.

“Because,” she continued, “You’re right. I could just as easily go to a sperm bank for this. But.. if you’re offering... “ She paused mid-breath, not sure how to proceed with-- what was this?  _ Was _ it an offer? “Are you offering your sperm or do you want to be a dad? And with me, being the mom? Because those are two entirely different things, Sandor.”

Would she want to do this? Have a child with Sandor?

She took a moment while he composed his thoughts to examine the prospect.

Sandor was intelligent and loyal to a fault, kind and honest. He was also tall, healthy, and in better physical shape than anyone in her family. And she knew without a doubt that he  _ would _ respect her, as both a mother and a woman.

But did she really want to go through with this? If he said yes, that is. Because it was obvious she hadn’t been planning on having Joffrey release into a cup and having a doctor insert the semen into her. Her baby was going to be conceived the old-fashioned way, and if Sandor was offering to do this for her-- _ with _ her--then that would mean…

Sansa felt herself turn the same color as a tomato as Sandor, oblivious of her thoughts, began to speak.

“Well, I, uh…” He was stammering, looking at her like she had grown a second nose, and then glancing out the window, at the ceiling, down at his feet, and then back up to her, his scars now covered again by the fall of his hair over his face. He looked unsure of himself, which was most certainly  _ not _ what she wanted to see in the face of the man who she was suddenly considering having a child with.

“Sandor, babies are a lot of work,” she said softly, pushing all thoughts of baby- _ making _ out of her mind. “They’re late night feedings, and diapers, and illnesses and doctors appointments. Then they turn into moody toddlers, and then moody kids, and moody preteens and moody teenagers. This is something I’ve been thinking about for years.” She shrugged, gesturing towards him with an upraised palm. “You’ve been thinking about it for two minutes.”

She wasn’t trying to be unkind, but he needed to know that if they decided to do this, he would also have to decide to what extent he wanted to be involved. If none at all, she would insist on him signing his rights away. She wouldn’t have him be a stranger in her child’s life who thought he would have a say in anything she did regarding the child.

But if he  _ did _ want a part in the child’s life--to be the dad, as it were--then, well…

She imagined Sandor holding a baby, playing with a toddler, throwing ball with a pre-teen, and all the images she conjured in her head looked so  _ right _ .

But now was not the time to supply him with his own answer. He needed to figure this out for himself.

“I know, I know,” he said, once again running his hand through his hair. She liked how he was mostly unconcerned about his scars in front of her. She wondered if that was a reflection on her treatment of him.

He turned from her and walked over to the large living room window that overlooked the front lawn and the quiet neighborhood street on which she lived. She had specifically chosen this house for the setting, and for the front and back yards, and for the two extra bedrooms it supported in addition to an impressive master suite.

Joffrey would have been able to afford a mansion in a gated community, but Sansa was a bit more practical. 

And if Joffrey was determined to live a jet setting life of infidelity, she’d had the forethought to purchase a home she could afford on her modest income, and one that would be comfortable to raise a small family in, even if it turned into a single parent family.

•• **•** ••

Sandor turned to face Sansa once again. She had changed in the last few minutes, and he wondered why. 

It seemed as though she had been brought back to reality, perhaps, by the sudden proposal from him of fathering her child--that perhaps her dream  _ was _ still within reach. And she had effectively thrown the ball into his court.

Did he want to be the father? Or just the sperm donor?

He pictured Sansa with a growing baby bump and going to all her appointments alone. Then he imagined her giving birth, also alone. Raising a baby, alone. Getting up several times every night to change diapers and feed the baby, alone. Dealing with sicknesses and shots and doctor’s appointments, alone.

That didn’t sound like a very bright future for her, admittedly, but it seemed as though she was willing.

But then he imagined her looking at a ultrasound machine, holding Sandor’s hand. Giving birth, holding Sandor’s hand. Watching a baby take its first steps, walking from Sandor to Sansa. Lazy Saturday mornings in a king-sized bed, a young child between them. 

And Sansa with a second baby bump, watching from the front porch as he taught their child how to ride a bike without training wheels.

_ Fuck _ . He turned away from her again to look out the window. His mind was running away from him, imagining things he had no business imagining.

But then,  _ did _ he have no business imagining them? Was it so awful to consider he might want to not only co-parent with Sansa, but to actually  _ be _ with Sansa? Was there a chance she could come to see him the same way he saw her? As… spouse material?

There was one way to find out.

He turned to her now, and closed the distance between them. She looked up at him with doe eyes, expectantly waiting for his answer.

Yes, this was the woman he was going to court. And he was going to court the fuck out of her, without her knowing. And she was going to be the mother of his kids, the woman he married, the person he would grow old with.

“I want to be the dad.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm getting the hang of this picset stuff. I hope you like it! Tried to keep it fairly tame ;-)
> 
> Kinda hard with a fic based on having sex.
> 
> Oh well <3

“Mom, I’ll be fine.”

“Of all the mean, audacious things he--... Ned! Ned! Did Sansa tell you what happened?”

“Yes, dear,” came her father’s voice from somewhere in the distance. 

“Sansa, you need to come home right away. Is Sandor there? Put Sandor on the phone. No, wait, nevermind. Just come home. Have Sandor drive you.”

“Mom, that’s hundreds of miles and he has to work.”

“But… but Sansa, you will come home? If you need us? That little--I’m going to speak to his mother!”

“Mom, no, don’t do that, for the love of the gods, just leave them alone. I’m better off for this, really.”

“How can you be better off? You spent ten years with that--that-- _ boy _ . And now he’s just going to throw you away for some floozy who lives next door to him? He’s going to do that to my baby??”

“I’ll be okay, mom. It’s better this way. At least we didn’t get married before this came out.”

“Put Sandor on the phone.”

Sandor stood between the living room and the kitchen, leaning against the back of the couch with those thick, sinewy forearms crossed over his chest. Sansa swallowed, attempting to focus on what her mom was saying but failing, with the monumental agreement her and Sandor had just come to.

“No, mom, actually… I gotta go. I’m okay, I swear. I’ll, uh--I’ll call you in a few days, okay? I love you!”

•• **•** ••

They looked at each other across the bed, Sandor wearing nothing but boxer briefs, and Sansa in a long t-shirt.

A week after sitting down in her living room to-- _ gods _ , he hated calling it this-- _ hash out the details _ , they’d agreed to meet again at her home to attempt to conceive. 

It was to be business-like ( _ fuck that _ ), consensual ( _ sensual, yes _ ), and quick ( _ like hell it was _ ). 

So a little part of him wondered at the dimmed lighting, the wine on the bureau, and the sweet scent of lemon coming from the oil diffuser in the corner.

He was forever going to remember that his child was conceived amidst the aroma of lemon cookies baking in an oven.

He’d worked out a plan (the paper copy was in the glove box of his truck outside) for how he was going to convince Sansa to become his in every sense of the word. The first step was, obviously, to turn this into less of a baby-conceiving session and more of a  _ knock her socks off with my sexual prowess _ session.

Which was going to be harder for him than he cared to admit, considering he wasn’t exactly with a woman every weekend, like his friends assumed. No, he’d last been with a woman, oh, maybe 8 months ago? A year? Roz, the woman from the bar he’d frequented on his weekends, had propositioned him, saying she was in the middle of a dry spell and wanted to know if he’d take pity on her and fuck her.

Well, no man in the middle of a two-year dry spell was going to deny  _ that _ .

So now here he was, freshly read up on sexual techniques and with a hefty repertoire in his mind of moves he could do to Sansa, and she was looking at him like she was suddenly a shy maiden.

“Have you done this before, little bird?” He kept his voice even, not wanting to let on that he was probably as inexperienced as she was. 

Sansa’s eyes widened and even in the dim light he could see her skin darken with a blush. She clasped her hands in front of her, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Yes, of course.” Then she bit her lip and looked away.

“Truthfully?”

“Well…” Now she looked down at the carpet on her side, scuffing it with her foot. “Just Joffrey,” she whispered. Then she looked up, her hair falling on either side of her face as her eyes focused on him from beneath lowered lashes. He watched as her gaze slid lower, taking in the wide expanse of his chest, his arms, down to his waist and lower, to--

Aaaaand they were back on his face, eyes wider than they were before.

_ Well, what the fuck does she expect? _ He couldn’t hide the smirk that appeared on his lips.  _ She’s wearing a t-shirt, her legs are a mile long, and I’d bet my life on there not being a bra under there _ .

•• **•** ••

Sansa was nervous, and as she watched, she saw that Sandor could see the goosebumps spreading across her skin.

Her nipples hardened, as did his eyes when he saw them.

_ For crying out loud!! _ She wanted to yell at her body to behave, but knew it wasn’t going to work. Not unless Sandor suddenly developed a beer belly, lost half his teeth, and farted.

No, he just  _ had _ to stand there looking like a damned Roman gladiator, all muscle and build and height and sexiness--all he was missing was the leather straps crisscrossing his chest, the short sword and the shield. 

And there she went, telling him that the only man she’d ever been with was Joffrey.

Heavens help her, this was supposed to be just business. They were going to co-parent, share custody, and she’d even thought about asking him to move in with her. She had the room, so why not?

But then he’d gone and taken off his shirt and pants in front of her, and she wondered if she should hold off on asking him that. It wouldn’t do to be so incredibly attracted to her roommate.

And the way Sandor was looking at her, with that smirk on his face--she figured he had a different woman every weekend. With that body, how could he not? And if a woman could set aside her shallow ways enough to get past the scars on his face--which Sansa was growing to appreciate, as they were a part of him and she was beginning to like  _ all _ of him--then he looked like he could be a sex god. Plus with his kindness and honesty, he really was quite the catch.

He was also going to be a great dad. The Starks raised wolf hybrids and she’d seen him with the puppies. There was no way a guy who melted as much as he did at the sight of puppies was going to be a bad father. 

Now, they just had to conceive a child.

_ Good gods _ , how did she ever think this could be done in a business-like manner?

“So.”

At her single word he walked around the bed, his eyes combing over her body in such a way that she was sure she could feel his gaze like a caress against her skin.

Her  _ damned _ nipples!  _ Settle down!! _

“Well, I have to say that I’m not going to be able to approach this like a business arrangement.”

Her eyes locked with his at his words, and her mouth fell open. It was as though he was reading her mind, but she would rather die than let him know that.

“What--what do you mean? We just… do it… and then I’ll let you know in a month whether or not it worked.”

Sandor stepped closer, close enough that he reached out and pulled a few strands of her hair through his fingers. As his hand dropped, the back of his knuckles brushed over a pert nipple and Sansa couldn’t hold in the gasp at the sensation. Her body was betraying her--heat pooled between her legs, though Sandor showed no outward signs of noticing the contact.

“Sansa, I can’t fathom laying you down on that bed, rutting like an animal, and then leaving.” His words were low and sensual, as though he was counting on them to rattle her nerves.

Which is what they were doing, but she kept her gaze focused on his and attempted to display an air of indifference to his proximity.

“What do you want to do?” She had meant her question to be assertive, but instead it came out breathless. She swallowed, attempting to clear the lump that now resided in her throat.

Sandor smiled lightly, and she got the distinct feeling he was enjoying this more than if it had indeed been a business arrangement.

“Foreplay.” The word was simple. Final. 

And his eyes sparkled when he reached for the hem of her shirt.

•• **•** ••

It was like unwrapping a gift, drawing that t-shirt up and over her head as she raised her arms for him. And what was unveiled to him was more gorgeous than anything he’d ever seen. 

Creamy skin, round breasts, nipples a dusky rose that made his mouth water. Sansa went to cover them and he shook his head, drawing her arms down as he stepped closer and forced her to look up into his face.

“Why cover?” he asked, but he knew she was self-conscious. They’d done nothing to lead up to this point, so he was determined to ease her mind, to ease her into making love so that she could genuinely enjoy the evening ahead of them.

“I’m nervous,” she whispered, and he watched as she swallowed, watched the movement in that long neck of hers.

He smiled softly, feeling nothing but affection for this woman. He wanted to make this nice, make it a night she would remember forever.

“Close your eyes.” 

Sansa’s eyes widened in alarm, but he merely nodded, smiling and waiting until she did was he bid her. 

“Keep them closed,” he said, and she gave a slight nod, standing in front of him wearing nothing but a small pair of solid black panties.  _ Gods _ , he never knew plain panties could be so damned sexy.

He reminded himself of his plan--the first part being to make love, instead of just to conceive a baby. To that end, he drew the back of a single knuckle down from her shoulder, barely skating it over the surface of her skin as much to feel her softness as to elicit an erotic reaction out of her. Down, down, until that knuckle swept over the curve of her breast and over her small, pebbled nipple. He watched as she bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut a bit harder than they were before as he brushed his finger up and down over the sensitive skin. As he did so, he also watched, incredibly turned on at the sight of her breasts bared to his gaze.

He repeated the same on the other side, gratified when her arms came up to grasp at his arms, steadying herself as she remained with her eyes closed, doing nothing but feeling the sensation of his fingers brushing over those two spots on her body--the only contact he had with her at this moment.

He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Does that feel good?”

Still biting her lip, Sansa nodded, her hands clamped onto his elbows.

“Do you think you can open your eyes now?”

A nod, before her eyelids slowly raised, and in her gaze he saw arousal, despite her obvious will to hide it.

Her lip was red when she released it, and he realized they hadn’t spoken of kissing. Did he dare try? It seemed to be a more intimate act, which sounded funny as they were heading towards making love. But still, he wasn’t sure if she even  _ wanted _ to kiss him. Was she attracted to him, or merely responding to his attentions?

No, kissing would have to wait. So he guided her instead to the edge of the bed and bid her to sit, before he knelt on the floor and spread her knees.

“Do you trust me, little bird?” 

He could see wariness in her eyes but she nodded, and he barely had to dip his head to kiss the swell of her breast, bracing his hands on the bed beside her hips.

It seemed like she didn’t know what to do with her hands so he took them and directed them up to his shoulders, showing her she could rest them there. And she did, her hands two small fists where they clenched on top of his skin.

Sandor flicked his tongue out against her skin, glancing up to see her watching him, and he smiled. She did not return it, but her mouth was parted and he could feel her short, uneven breaths.

He didn’t know conceiving a child could be this fun.

He lowered his head once again and this time took the tip of her breast into his mouth, rewarded with a low moan coming from Sansa as he drew her flesh into his mouth and rubbed at her skin with his tongue, feeling the tightened skin of her nipple inside his mouth.

He groaned in satisfaction against her skin as he felt both of her hands cup his head, not holding him to her and not quite pushing him away, but just  _ there _ , as though the sensation was too much and she needed her hands to be grounded to something.

•• **•** ••

Sansa watched as his face moved to her other breast, and she nearly cried out at the sensation of his hot mouth sucking her into him, of his tongue swirling around her nipple, and his teeth toying with the sensitive flesh. 

_ Gods _ , Joffrey was an idiot. She almost laughed, reminded that he had never done anything like this to her body, had never drawn out pleasure for her in this manner.

Sandor brought his hand up for a moment, his palm cupping her other breast for a moment before she felt a pressure from it and realized his mouth had left her chest and he was pushing her back against the bed.

She landed on her elbows, looking at him as he lowered himself to his heels, his face embarrassingly close to the juncture of her thighs.

“Sandor,” she started, about to remind him that they were supposed to be making a baby and not doing…  _ this _ . 

But her head fell back when he used the back of the same knuckle to trace a path from just below her bellybutton to the top edge of her panties, over the soft cotton fabric and down, down, until it passed over the very core of her and she moaned again.

“ _ Fuck _ , woman,” he cursed, and Sansa didn’t have time to raise her head before she felt his hot mouth on her, outside her panties, pressing open mouthed kisses to her through them. 

“Sandor!” she gasped when his tongue pressed against her sensitive skin, knowing he had hit another spot on her Joffrey had never bothered to pay any attention to. 

At his name, Sandor growled into her, moments before hooking his fingers beneath the edge of her panties and dragging them down her legs, tossing them  _ Gods-knew-where _ .

Sansa attempted to sit, mortified that she now understood what was about to happen, when suddenly Sandor was over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and leaning down press his lips to the center of her sternum.

“Don’t, Sansa. Let me do this for you.”

“Sandor, I--this isn’t--I don’t think--”

He chuckled softly, bringing his hands back to palm both her breasts as he looked down at her. 

“Have you never done this before, either?”

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, but then opened them again. She shook her head, horrified that she had to admit that to him. 

Her mind was telling her this wasn’t necessary to make a baby, while her body completely disagreed. She could feel it--the low thrum of desire in her abdomen, in the tightness of her nipples and the breathless way she found herself looking at his mouth--that her body wanted this.

How would it feel, she wondered, to have his mouth on her? With that beard and mustache? Would it hurt? Would it be scratchy? Would it feel good?

“Neither have I,” he admitted with a small self-deprecating grin, his gray eyes focused on hers, even as his fingers tweaked her nipples and made her shudder. 

His breath swept over her skin as he asked, “Will you let me?” 

Then he bent his head to press his lips against her sternum again, ending it with a swipe of his tongue that had her stomach muscles twitching.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want me to, and I will. I promise, little bird.”

•• **•** ••

But she didn’t and he neither did he.

With Sansa’s low, dulcet moan, Sandor knew he was doing it right.

With his mouth on her clit and a single finger buried deep within her, her legs thrown over his shoulders and a hand gripping the bedspread and the other grabbing his hair, he could feel her body being drawn tight like a bowstring.

He went slow, unsure of himself and of how she was going to react. He’d never done this to a woman before, and it had seemed only natural to use her incredible wetness to aid in his exploration of her body.

_ Gods _ , she was gorgeous. All pink folds and musky scent. No wonder men talked about this all the time. How the hell did he reach thirty-eight years old and never had his face between a woman’s legs?

But then, he didn’t bother answering that question. All he could think about now was Sansa, and how he only ever wanted his face between  _ her _ legs, tasting  _ her _ essence, smelling  _ her _ arousal. He’d waited his whole life to end up at this point, he knew now, with her head thrown back in ecstasy, her grip on his hair making his eyes water. With every twitch and jerk of her body, he watched the movement of her breasts and was mesmerized, feeling the pull of his scars as he attempted to keep his mouth on her at the same time he raised his eyes to watch her react.

_ Fucking hell _ , she was amazing.

He did something with his tongue that made her stop thrashing, and she stilled on the bed.  _ Side to side _ , he thought, and his tongue followed the command, swiping left to right and back again, over and over, as her breaths quickened and he thought she might tear out some of his hair.

He felt it build within her, in the tightening of muscles around his finger, the way her heels dug into his back, and how her other hand now came down to dig her fingernails into the skin of his forearm.

Then she was whispering his name, chanting it as though she was almost fearful of what was happening--”sandorsandorSandorSANDOR”--and it was then that she fell apart beneath him, her pelvis jerking beneath his mouth as her insides clamped onto his finger as he moved it in and out of her, gently thrusting into her folds as the movements of his tongue lessened and gentled.

She tasted so incredibly sweet on his tongue, and he would have stayed there happily, laving at her folds and pleasuring her until he developed lockjaw had she not grasped his hair and pulled him up suddenly, until he was hovering over her and she was dragging his mouth down to her for a kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen.

•• **•** ••

Sandor’s kisses were the most erotic kisses she’d ever experienced, and Sansa pushed aside the voice in her head that said kisses were too intimate, too personal to involve in this arrangement.

But… she could not ignore how her insides clenched and ached with the smell of herself on his mustache and the taste of herself on his lips and tongue--something that she cringed inwardly about, as embarrassed as she was to realize she  _ liked _ it. 

And it wasn’t lost on her that their first kiss was flavored by her sex, a fact that both made her blush and caused a rush of desire to flood her veins.

How had baby-making turned into this? This experience, this  _ event _ . Sex had never been like this with Joffrey. Sansa couldn’t ever remember a time when she had actually been sexually attracted to Joffrey  _ after _ they had started having sex. Before, yes--when he was still this unattainable boy-god whom she worshipped. 

But afterwards? When he would spend his minute on her before his release and then turn over and go to sleep? Or worse, when he’d  _ leave _ afterwards? No, she lost all hope of having a fulfilling sexual relationship.

Which, again, was okay because it would have meant more time for her and her kids.

But now, she tried not to think of how she was going to live without  _ this _ \--Sandor and his mouth, his hands, his fingers, his  _ body _ .  _ Gods _ , but she was finding his sexual appeal, when added to his kind personality and responsible attitude, to be absolutely captivating. It almost wasn’t fair that this would come to an end eventually.

Seemingly of their own volition, her hands were roaming over his skin as his tongue pushed into her mouth--over his shoulders and up into his hair, down along the path of his spine to the upper edge of his boxers. Then  _ lower _ , as she grasped his cheeks and sunk her fingers into the muscles of his butt.

_ Built like one of the gods _ , she admitted quietly as he sucked at her tongue, his beard scraping at the sensitive skin of her face. She was going to be red tomorrow, and she couldn’t find it in herself to give a crap.

His hands were in her hair also, holding her head immobile as his tongue plundered and seduced, causing her to lose all sense of time as they laid there on the bed, him braced above her and her below him, feeling that need deep inside her building, a hole deep inside that needed to be filled.

Her legs came up to grip his hips, her heels wrapping around the backs of his thighs. Together with her hands, she was able to pull his body down to hers, and she gasped as he caught on and suddenly _ thrust _ , his erection rubbing deliciously against her sensitized flesh from where his mouth had left her just moments before. Sansa moaned into his mouth, and realized her reaction was causing him to do it again, and again, and again.

“Sandor,” she gasped, wanting him inside her, needing him to fill her, and yet feeling the absence of his mouth the instant he pulled back from her. She reached out, finding herself unwilling to part from his lips just yet as she lifted her face to kiss him again.

Sandor fell back against her, resting on his elbows as his hips moved more gently against her. Sansa felt her body move with his, an instinct pulled up from deep within her bones to rock her hips in rhythm with his.

Deeply she kissed him, her own tongue venturing forth into his mouth to taste and touch and tangle with his. Sandor’s moan was fuel to her fire, and she slid her hands up to cup his face, angling it so she could deepen the kiss. Beneath her palms she felt the dichotomy of him--prickly sideburns under her palm, soft hair entwined in her fingertips; and on the other side the tight and unyielding skin edged by coarse beard against her palm with the soft skin of his rigid scars spread out under her fingers. 

She broke the kiss for air but maneuvered his head with her hands, kissing over to his cheek, to the line where beard met scar, dropping kisses over the surface and loving on that marred part of him.

He groaned at her attentions, bending his neck and using his hand to mold her breast up towards his mouth while she peppered his cheek and scalp with open and closed mouth kisses.

“Fuck, Sansa,” he ground out against the skin of her breast, bringing his hardness up one last time into her sensitive core before tearing away and dragging his boxers down his legs.

Sansa was hot, her chest heaving with exertion and excitement. She didn’t have time to wonder at what was happening, as the animalistic look on Sandor’s face made her heart skip a beat in her chest, as did his growled, “Up,” as he pointed to the head of the bed.

She had barely scrambled backwards towards the pillows when he was suddenly on top of her, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss as he settled between her legs.

She’s seen his erection--knew he was big, knew this was going to be different than anything she’d ever experienced before. He had worked her up into such an erotic frenzy that Sansa wasn’t sure her heart could take such tumultuous passion. 

Then he stopped--the pressure of the tip of his hardness pressed just into the her opening, poised and ready to claim her.

Suddenly worried that he’d inexplicably, astonishingly changed his mind, she looked at him as he brought his eyes up to hers and spoke, his voice ragged and hoarse.

“Are you sure?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along! Thank you for ALL THE WONDERFUL COMMENTS THEY MAKE MY DAAAAYY!!!
> 
> Seriously.

 

 

In answer to his ragged “ _Are you sure?”_ she wrapped her legs around his thighs and pulled, her surprising strength drawing him closer to her body as his cock pushed into her tightness.

_Fuck_. Suddenly he didn’t know who was seducing who.

All he knew was that he had this gorgeous woman beneath him, her breasts crushed to his chest, wrapped in a cocoon of her limbs in a room that smelled of her sex and lemons.

He was in fucking heaven.

Sansa’s lips were parted, her eyes on his as he pushed himself in part way and then withdrew, earning him a soft whimper from her at the loss of his presence. So he returned, deeper this time as she stretched her neck at the intrusion, eyes on him, always on him, and then withdrew again.

“Sandor,” she groaned, drawing out the last syllable of his name until he thrust once more, bringing them to full connection between their bodies.

Her gasp was loud, her mouth open wide when he swooped down for a kiss intended to steal from her the breath she’d just inhaled.

She moaned against his mouth and he stayed where he was, his tongue caressing her own in softly sweeping strokes as he felt her muscles clamp around his erection, the delicious feeling of being buried so deeply inside her doing funny things to his heart and his mind.

They were supposed to be making a baby, but this felt like so much more than that. To him, even if not to her.

But judging by her frantic touches, her deep and needy kisses, and the moans that slipped from between her lips every so often, he was nearly convinced that she also felt that this was more. Otherwise, why would she be moving her hips like she was, wriggling her body in a way that made him clench his teeth as he pulled away from her to watch her face as he withdrew.

He growled her name, “Sansa,” as her lips parted once again, her eyes closing now as he slowly slid back into her.

_Gods_ , she was magnificent. She felt amazing, her body wrapped around him now in a way that made him feel like she was made for him. Her hands on his skin, her legs around his thighs, and those gorgeous breasts… Everything about her. He was going to go insane with want if his plan didn’t work.

•• **•** •• 

Sansa raised her hand to the headboard, her voice now hoarse as Sandor moved above her, thrusting in long, fast, passionate strokes that were going to drive her over the edge. Never before had it been like this--never before had she even suspected sex could feel this good. But then, she supposed one just had to have the right partner.

And he was grimacing above her, his hair swaying with his movements, the slap of their bodies as she held herself down into the bed like a signal sounding a cataclysmic coming together of two people.

The build was starting, even before Sandor slid his arms beneath her, even before he clasped her body to his, his mouth near her ear growling her name in the most seductive whisper she’d ever heard.

His back rounded and extended with each thrust, and the closeness of his body was rubbing her in the exact spot she needed.

She couldn’t help but dig her fingers into his back when the orgasm took her, crying out his name at the same time his thrusts became sporadic, stronger than just a moment before but completely lacking in the rhythm, and she knew he was spilling himself inside her. His movements slowed, drawing it out for both of them as she clenched and unclenched around him.

Then, when she thought it was over, he brought his face up and immediately pressed his lips to hers, kissing her so sweetly and warmly that she felt tears spring to her eyes.

Joffrey had never, _never_ , done anything as touching as kiss her after sex. And actually, none of Joffrey’s kisses were as warm as Sandor’s, nor as loving, as soothing as what she was experiencing now. Sandor’s mouth moved over hers slowly, achingly, as he drew her lip into his mouth and suckled at the softness of it, his mustache and beard sweeping across her skin in a raspy caress instead of the scratching burn from earlier.

His hands bracketed her face between his palms and he nibbled, their breath mingling as he drew out the last bit of their lovemaking--she dared call it that in her mind, though never out loud. But the way his tongue swept across her upper lip before his mouth parted and drew her tongue out one last time, the tangling bittersweet now that they both knew it was over, Sansa let her hands slide down to the surface of the bed, her legs loosening their grip on his body.

This man… She was at a loss for words, a loss for _thoughts_. How much older was he than her--fifteen years? Sixteen, maybe? And yet, she found herself more attracted to him than she’d ever been to Joffrey, more in tune with his body and he with hers than whatever small connection she and Joffrey ever had.

And part of her wondered, what would it be like, for this moment to _not_ be about just making a baby?

For this moment to be two people in love with each other, perhaps a husband and wife, knowing that it could happen again and again, that every time they came together could be as mind-blowing and cataclysmic as this had been.

Would she ever have that?

With anyone?

Surely not with Sandor, as he was here to make a baby with her, and that was it. They had both made it clear what his purpose in her bed would be, and they had just succeeded in that purpose.

So as his lips whispered kisses over hers, moving softly now that it was time for them to part, Sansa had just been about to thank him when she felt something strange.

A movement inside her.

•• **•** •• 

The second time was so unlike the first, Sandor questioned the wisdom of his plan.

After all, how could he _not_ fall to his knees, naked as his nameday, when they were done, and _not_ beg her to marry him, to have his babies and to be his from now until the end of time?

How could he _not_ profess his growing love for her--a love that had merely been a seed, a thought, prior to tonight’s events, but that now felt like a tsunami crashing over his heart? Their lovemaking had been nothing short of mind-blowing, and he knew he’d be a broken man if this all didn’t work out how he wanted it to in the end.

Sansa had been surprised, her eyes opening wide when she felt him regain his hardness while still inside her, and it had been the most natural thing to begin moving again, in and out of her, slowly and languidly, watching as she bit her lip and feeling as her legs slid back up to wrap around his own, her hands rising from where they’d fallen on the bed to grasp the rounded muscles at the caps of his shoulders.

Just feeling her hands on his bare skin was enough to make him see stars, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he moved above her, only to open them again and meet her gaze.

It was an amazing thing really, to stare into Sansa’s eyes as he moved, knowing what they were doing, knowing what parts of them were connected and giving each other pleasure. It was an emotional connection he’d never felt with any other woman, and he wanted to savor it, to study it so that if--and this was a big _if_ \--it never happened again, he could go to his grave knowing that at least once in his life he’d known the deepest bond with a woman any man could have.

But as he felt himself slowly reaching the point where he knew he would cum again, he knew she wasn’t quite there. He could see it in the way she stared at him in wonder, her lips parted and her hands wandering over him--shoulders, arms, chest, neck, even caressing both sides of his face.

He turned his head, pinning her wrist between his mouth and his shoulder as he placed an open mouthed kiss to the sensitive underside of her arm, sucking gently and eliciting a low, sexy moan from her.

Sandor looked back at her, allowing her to slide the fingers of that hand up and over his hair, an affectionate gesture that wasn’t lost on him.

He lifted his body away from her enough to reach down between them, and she softly cried out as his thumb delved down into her folds, finding the swollen nub of flesh that he knew would bring her to climax.

Then he held his hand there, allowing the pressure of his body as he moved--in, out, up, down--to dictate the movement of his thumb.

Sansa bit her lip, closed her eyes, and within just a few seconds was crying out as her orgasm crashed through her body, taking him along with it moments later. It was a slow, deliberate orgasm that had him collapsing this time as he slid out of her, instinct causing his arms to scoop her up and haul her to his side.

She didn’t pull away at first, but rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers idly sliding through the pelt of hair on his chest. It felt good-- _damn good_ \--this shared intimacy between he and Sansa. But it wasn’t long lived.

She slid out of his arms and walked to the bathroom, leaving him naked on the bed as he watched her heart-shaped butt take her through the door and out of his sight.

No, Sansa was not aware of his plan, nor did she seem amenable to it at the moment. But he wasn’t done. And as he brought his clothes out to the bathroom in the hallway so he could wash, he knew the ball--or the semen, so to speak--was in her court now.

•• **•** •• 

“When are you going to take the test?”

Sansa listened to Sandor’s voice but she was nervous. There was always the possibility that what they had done--that momentous bout of earth shattering lovemaking--hadn’t worked.

“Tonight, when I get home from work.”

“Can I come by?”

Sansa had to chuckle. They had only spoken a couple times since she’d walked him out that day a month ago, a couple sporadic phone calls where he asked how she was feeling, and if she’d gone in for a checkup yet. She had assured him the first step was the over-the-counter test, and that she would keep him informed.

“Why would you want to come by? I’m going to pee on a stick and then wait to see how many lines pop up. There’s nothing exciting about that, and no, you can’t watch.”

His raspy chuckle did funny things to her nerves, sending goosebumps down the length of her arms.

“I wasn’t going to ask that. But if it’s positive, we can celebrate.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Well, I guess there’s something we could do if the first time didn’t work.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, and she blushed.

She hadn’t really thought about what would happen if it _didn’t_ work. But there was only one thing to do, and that was to make love again.

But that first time had nearly done her in. She’d spent days wondering how to heal her heart if this didn’t work out, and how to heal her heart from the eventual break that would happen once they conceived. How could she not do that again? With him? Over and over again? She would lay awake at night in the same bed in which he had turned her world upside down, bringing up memory after memory until she fell asleep and dreamed of how his body felt hovering over hers, and how he felt thrusting inside her, and how his kisses felt against her lips.

Or she would be at work and she would remember the feel of his mouth down _there_ , and she would blush as she handed a customer their bags across the counter of the gift shop.

But no, it hadn’t crossed her mind until he’d said something, that they might have to try again.

“I suppose you could come by,” she said softly, knowing full well what the implications of that meant--if she was pregnant, they might have a nice dinner.  If she wasn’t, then they would surely spend a good portion of their evening in her bedroom. And right now, at the picnic table outside work where she sat to eat her lunch, she knew deep down--between her legs, actually, where the feeling was originating--exactly which one of those she wanted more.

She only wanted it slightly more since her original purpose had been to get pregnant.

But again, if she _wasn’t_ pregnant, well, then… _Round 2, Commence_.

•• **•** •• 

“Well?”

“Sandor, I can’t pee with you standing right outside the door.”

“Women get that? Where you can’t pee if you know there’s someone around?”

“What--wait, what? Sandorrr, go away.”

“No, really. Men do that, but we have urinals and they’re out in the open. So you have to stand next to another guy while you’re trying to pee, and sometimes it’s difficult.”

“I’m not talking to you about peeing.”

“Actually, you are right now.”

…

“I don’t hear anything--”

“SANDOR!”

•• **•** •• 

“Can I come in now?” He hadn't heard anything from within the bathroom for a couple minutes, after he’d walked away long enough for her to do her business. But he was curious--about so many things, really. Curious enough that he felt a slight headache coming on, not knowing exactly which outcome he wanted more.

On the one hand, sex with her was amazing. They’d only done it the two times, but he wanted to do it again. And again, and again. As many times as she’d let him.

But then, he’d also been thinking this last month about what having a child would mean to him. And not just because it meant they would co-parent and be together a lot, but because… Well, because his own father had been a douchebag. A douchebag that protected his equally douchebag brother when said brother had burned his face.

And if he knew one thing about being a parent, it was to not emulate his own father.

But that always led to thoughts of what kind of a dad _did_ Sandor want to be?

He often thought about what it would be like to hold a baby, or to push a stroller, or even to change a diaper. What would it be like watching a son or daughter enter kindergarten? Or star in a play? Or bat their first home run?

He could picture himself learning, always learning--how to be a better father, a more supportive father, a more patient father, a more loving father. When he imagined himself in that role, there was never any way he felt he would be shorting his child of the parent he or she deserved.

But that started now, with a father who was supportive and loving of the mother. And Sansa was in there, not answering him.

He quietly knocked again, wondering at her silence.

“Sansa?” He kept his voice down, but when she didn’t answer him he chose to open the door anyway.

She was sitting on the edge of the tub, looking down at the little white stick in her hands.

He couldn’t imagine it was good news, so he quietly walked into the bathroom, folding his tall form into the small space on the tub beside her. She had to move over a few inches to give him room, so when he came to a rest, he was sandwiched between the wall and pressed up against her side.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching out to take the stick from her hands.

One line. She had said that two would mean they were pregnant.

Sandor sighed, but he tossed the stick into the trash can and wrapped an arm around Sansa’s shoulders. She still had not looked up at him. Instead, she leaned into his chest and for the second time in just over a month, sobbed into his shirt.

•• **•** •• 

She knew what he was doing, and she was grateful for it.

Since leaving the bathroom, he had gotten her a cup of water, ordered a pizza, had picked out the cheesiest rom-com she had in her blu-ray disc collection, and had loaded her dishwasher.

Now they sat on the couch, Sansa hugging his arm with her cheek against his shoulder, as they watched Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks navigate a chat room romance.

He was giving her space. He was giving her time to think about what she wanted to do. There were only two possibilities here--try again, or don’t. And as much as she thought she would be, she just didn’t feel ready to jump into another ground shaking lovemaking session.

So they ate pizza, watched the movie, and then stayed up late talking about her family and how the next get-together would be the big Independence Day bash at the Stark compound, several hundred miles away.

“You’ll go?”

Sandor smiled down at her words, from where she rested against him. It was a very comfortable position and she hadn't given it up when the movie had ended.

“Of course I’ll be there. Ned has some plans he wanted to show me about a new business venture he thought I might want to be a part of.”

“Ooh, details?” Sansa smiled, and for the first time in a while she felt a bit more like herself, and not like she had suffered a failure just hours earlier.

Sandor’s answering laugh warmed her heart.

“No, little bird, no details. Even I don’t know them. But I’m assuming you’ll be there, as well?”

Sansa nodded, and then she promptly yawned, laughing when she saw that it had made Sandor yawn as well.

“I have the spare bedrooms, if you’d like to stay the night. It’s pretty late and you have an hour drive home.”

She didn’t invite him to share her bed, nor led him to think anything would happen between them tonight. But she was happy nonetheless when he accepted her offer.

•• **•** •• 

The sky outside was dark and the neighborhood around the house was silent when Sansa opened the door to Sandor’s room. She quietly padded across the carpet, pulling down her oversized t-shirt as she felt for the edge of the blankets.

They suddenly moved on their own, and she slid into bed, pushing her back into Sandor’s large body as he lowered them back down again, wrapping a heavy, muscled arm around her middle.

The weight of his arm, the tickle of his breath against her neck, and the solid wall of warm muscle at her back and behind her thighs lulled her into a solid sleep.

•• **•** •• 

The sun had just lightened the sky from its point below the horizon when Sandor felt Sansa moving.

Waking up to a beautiful woman rubbing herself against his now-hard cock wasn’t the worst way to banish sleep.

Nor was the scent of lemon in her hair, or the softness of her body beneath his arm, or the way the soft soles of her feet were rubbing at the front of his legs enticingly, goading him into a level of wakefulness he was now completely prepared for.

This was no ordinary wake-up.

Sandor pressed his face into the juncture of her neck as he rocked against her, pressing his erection against her bottom as he nipped at the soft skin left exposed by the wide neckline of her shirt.

“Mmm,” she moaned softly, and Sandor adjusted his arm so that it was beneath the blanket that covered them.

He slid his hand over her waist, feeling the S-curve of her rib cage, waist, hip and thigh. As low as he could go, he sent his hand, nearly to her knee before he brought it back up, dragging with it the hem of her shirt until he could press his palm against the flat of her stomach.

He found himself resting it there, for no other reason than to indulge his vision of a roundness that was as of yet missing from her body. A slide of his thumb over her skin, and a kiss to her shoulder was the extent of his musings, but her answering sigh mirrored his own.

From there he slowly moved upwards, until his thumb discovered the tantalizing curve at the underside of her breast. He growled into her neck as he explored the skin there, under first one breast and then the other. She brought her hand up to rest against his forearm, but she didn’t stop him, so he continued the trek.

When he palmed her breast she moaned again, tilting her pelvis so that they rubbed together once again. In answer he scraped his teeth over the top of her shoulder where his lips had just pressed, and was rewarded by the rise of goosebumps on her skin.

His fingers played with first one nipple and then the other, evoking short gasps and moans from her as he tugged and twisted, pinched and soothed, before she mewled softly when his hand left her breasts.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying not to think about how fucking turned on he was that she was allowing him to explore her body this way.

He felt for sure that he was going to cum on the sheets, and what a fucking embarrassment _that_ would be.

So instead he focused on pleasing her, rather than this exploration being the means to please himself, and when his hand slid further down to the edge of her panties, delving beneath the band to tangle with the crisp curls below, he was rewarded with a parting of her legs as she draped hers over the top of his.

“Sansa,” he growled into her ear, and because he couldn’t hold back his words any longer, “What you fucking do to me, little bird.”

Even to his own ears, he barely recognized the voice. It was rough with arousal, a rasp barely audible through the haze of erotic bliss he was experiencing. And she was the cause, this redheaded siren who had climbed into his bed sometime during the night.

Lower still, his hand travelled, parting the top of her folds where he found the prize--rubbing and stroking the ball of flesh until she was bucking against his hand, her arm thrown back to grasp at his hair as she whimpered and cried his name. Then lower again, he found her generously aroused, his fingers submerging in what his mouth now watered for as his thumb retreated to rub at her clit.

Then he curved the fingers that were inside her, slid the pad of his thumb over the sensitized bud, and saw his own stars as she came apart around him, crying out his name again and again, drawing out her climax with soft strokes and gentle motions.

When he’d withdrawn his hand and she had let go of his hair, they laid together for a while, neither of them saying anything.

•• **•** •• 

Sansa didn’t know what she was doing, but she wanted to return the favor he’d gifted her earlier when she had woken him up, aroused at the hardness she had found pressed to her back when sleep had left her.

So she sat atop him now, in the full light of morning, completely naked and nervous that she was attempting to do something she’d never done before.

As she lowered herself onto his erection she watched Sandor’s face from where he sat reclined against the headboard, noting the parting of his lips and the unevenness of his breaths, the way his eyes slid over her bare breasts, her sloping stomach, the parts of them that were now joined. Then his eyes would come back up to hers, and she was completely lost in the depths she found there.

“Sandor,” she whispered, and then she blushed.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face then--here she sat, naked as her nameday with his cock up inside her, her hands on his shoulders, and she was blushing because she didn’t know what to do, how to move.

Sandor smiled softly, though he nodded as his hands came up to grasp her hips.

As he moved her, slowly sliding her forward and back, directing her pelvis in a rocking motion that she felt deliciously deep inside her, she watched his biceps bulge as he worked, his stomach muscles clenching and moving. He had so much hair on his chest, hair that crept upwards towards his neck and never quite ended before it suddenly became his beard. She slid her hands over to rest her fingers against his throat, her mouth parting with a gasp when he rocked _his_ hips and she found him penetrating her even deeper than before.

“That wasn’t fair,” she ground out, biting her lip and closing her eyes for a moment at the incredible sensation of him so deep within her.

He looked at her, tilting his head back as she leaned forward and rocked, resting her forearms against his shoulders.

“Oh, it _is_ fair, love,” he whispered hoarsely, and she wondered for a moment if he’d heard himself use the endearment.

She felt added pressure on her hips as he urged her to lift and sink, and Sansa’s mouth dropped open on a whimper as he helped her do it over and over, her rhythm getting faster as Sandor let go of her hips and sat forward, pulling her torso closer so he could take the peak of one breast into his mouth.

Sansa continued to move as much as she could, but she was distracted and her rhythm was off, her hands now buried in Sandor’s hair as he squeezed and sucked and kissed and nibbled at her skin.

He moved to lean back just as she felt the stirrings of an orgasm begin deep within her abdomen, and she shook her head, her _No_ a soft cry from her lips as she pulled his head back to her chest, directing his mouth to her other nipple.

Sandor growled into her skin, reacting to her demand, and as she rocked and rose, feeling the size of him filling and leaving and then filling her again, he used his teeth to worry her nipple and she crested, crying out his name as she felt her insides pulse and clamp around him.

•• **•** •• 

It was more than Sandor could handle, this woman who was everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever wanted her to be, riding him, pleasing him, looking so damned sexy as she took her pleasure from him.

As soon as her body calmed after its climax he wrapped his arms tightly around her and flipped them, quickly settling himself back between her legs without ever having to leave her body.

Then, to his surprise, she hissed _Yesss_ as he began to move, and he responded with a guttural, “Fuck, Sansa,” as he braced himself above her.

He was powerless to go slow, and by the look of her face he judged that she didn’t want him to. So quickly he moved, their bodies slamming together as she moaned and cried and he grunted and growled, until he sensed the climax building within him and he lowered himself, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she once again wrapped him in that cocoon of limbs, her arms embracing him tightly.

He came inside her almost violently, a harsh groan loosing from his mouth with his last few thrusts.

In the aftermath he laid there, making sure she had room to breathe but his body not quite cooperating enough to leave the safety of her arms. And as he laid there she stroked his back, her dainty fingertips tracing the trail of his spine, and drawing soft caresses over the muscled surface.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onto pregnancy test #2 ... <3
> 
> Thanks to all who have read, commented and given kudos! You guys rock!
> 
> Btw, all those extra spaces around my italicized words ARE NOT MY FAULT lol. They bug me, but they are automatically put in and I don't know how to prevent that.

One month later they repeated that evening with the pregnancy test. He had arrived and she’d showed him the new test--same name brand, same ominous pink box displaying a hugely pregnant woman.

And again, he’d stood outside the door.

“Go away, Sandor,” she said, but this time she laughed. 

“I will not,” he insisted through the door. “You made me leave you last time, and I won’t do it again.” He paused, and she heard what she thought was his forehead thudding against the door. “I have no idea how long you sat in there after reading the results. This time…  _ you _ pee,  _ we _ wait.”

“Okay, okay, but I can’t pee with you there.”

“For fuck’s sake, woman, why the hells not?”

“Because you’ll  _ hear _ me!”

He grumbled something unintelligible through the door, then growled, “Little bird, I know what pee sounds like.”

Sansa sighed. It didn’t seem like she was going to convince him to leave, so she needed to think of something else. 

She looked around and decided the tub faucet was her best bet. She reached over and turned the lever, and a  _ loud _ steady stream of water began filling the tub.

“Are you taking a bath?” he asked incredulously, and she saw the door knob move slightly--

“Don’t-you-dare-come-in-here!!” she yelled, and the movement stopped.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I turned the tub on so you couldn’t hear me!” She quickly peed on the stick and replaced the cap, turning off the tub only after she’d flushed the toilet. After setting the test on the counter she told him he could open the door, and he did so as she washed her hands.

“Well?” She looked up in the mirror, noting the expectant look on his face. 

_ Wow, he is really interested in those results _ . And she could tell by his nervousness that it wasn’t just the possible opportunity to have more sex. No, he was wondering if he was going to be a father.

As she looked down at the test Sandor came up behind her, and to her surprise he wrapped his arms around her middle, leaning his head over her shoulder so he could watch the small screen.

Other than to comfort her while she cried, he’d never touched her outside the bedroom before. It seemed rather intimate, though she supposed what they were attempting to do was something not just any two people would do together. Two people attempting to have a baby together would have to like each other, respect each other, and experience between them a certain level of affection, such as she and Sandor.

Plus his arms felt strong and comforting, so she rested her own hands on his hairy forearms.

“One line,” he said somewhat morosely, his tone quiet. He knew what that meant.

But… Sansa knew. That line wasn’t there on the first test.

She dug her fingers into Sandor’s arm.

Watching the line of what she knew was her pee, moving along that little window, wasn’t even embarrassing anymore as they focused on the test.

The line grew darker as a second line was suddenly revealed to them, so faint at first that she knew they both held their breaths, but as it darkened she felt Sandor tense behind her.

“Oh my gods, Sandor.” Slowly she turned in the circle of his arms. Her gaze moved upwards to meet his, and he had the same shocked expression on his face that she could feel on hers. She swallowed.

“We did it.”

Sandor nodded. 

“We did it,” he agreed, though the shock remained.

Sansa was the first to smile, and when at last she saw the same thing on his face, a smile that soon spread to his silver eyes, she positively shrieked.

“We did it, Sandor!” 

She didn’t hesitate, but lept into his arms, grateful when they immediately came around to hold her to him, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing her face into the long hair at his neck. He was laughing into her shoulder, a sound that was music to her ears.

It was so silly, finding herself wrapped around his torso with one of his hands under her butt and the other pulling at her tightly in a hug, but all she could do was inhale the scent of his shampoo, feel the warmth of his hairy skin against her face, and entwine her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Oh my gods, Sandor, we’re going to have a baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, as the enormity of it all began to sink in. 

Eight months from now they were going to be parents.

She was going to have a baby.

She was going to have a baby, with Sandor Clegane.

•• **•** ••

He was going to have a baby with Sansa Stark.

Sansa  _ Fucking _ Stark. His little bird.

Maybe there was something to the gods her family worshipped, after all. Old or new, it didn’t matter. He’d thank them all.

He glanced down at the test, still sitting on the counter. There could be no mistake. Sansa’s magic pee had turned those two lines dark pink. He had to chuckle, feeling ridiculously happy and incredibly nervous all at the same time.

He was going to be a good father--he  _ was _ .

He realized then that the woman in his arms was trembling, so he leaned over and sat her on the edge of the vanity, leaning back to look down into her face.

She was crying.

“Hey, whoa, what is this? Tears?”

Sansa sniffed, hiccuped, but then smiled up at him through red eyes.

“Thank you, Sandor. You’ve made my dreams come true, and I owe you. I really do. I owe you everything.” She sniffed and he pulled a tissue out of the box on the corner of the counter. After blowing her nose she smiled at him again, but he spoke first.

“Sansa, you don’t owe me anything. I didn’t know I’d ever be a father until you approached me about this. So it’s you I have to thank. And…” 

He paused, swallowing past the lump in his own throat. 

_ Don’t cry, you idiot _ . 

“And, I’ll be a good father. I promise.”

If there was such a thing as seeing someone’s heart in their eyes, he could have sworn hers shone through just then.

“Oh my gods, Sandor, you’re going to be a  _ wonderful _ father.” She reached up to cup his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the line of his beard on the unmarred side of his face. “I know you are, because you’re so good to me.”

But then she pulled back, and he stepped away as she slid off the counter.

“Now, we celebrate!”

It turned out her version of celebrating was going out to eat. She let him choose the restaurant (a steakhouse) but insisted on picking the movie they watched. So that’s how they found themselves parked back on her couch, a bowl of popcorn on Sandor’s lap as they watched a motley group of individuals save the universe from certain destruction.

When the end credits rolled and Sansa exclaimed that the best part of the movie actually happened there--her  _ awww _ ’s and  _ ohmygodhe’ssocuuute _ ’s peppering the short scene that was found there--Sandor rose from the couch to get ready to leave.

But again, Sansa stopped him.

With a hand on his arm as he stood by the door, poised to get his boots back on, she looked up at him, looking adorable in her oversized sweater and leggings. 

“Sandor, are you truly happy?”

He looked at her sideways, an amused smile spreading across his face.  _ How on earth could she ask me that? _

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” she said, but he could see that she  _ did _ know. She scuffed at the carpet with her foot, a motion he was beginning to recognize as a sign she was going to talk about something that made her uncomfortable.

“I suppose… I guess I just feel like I maybe pushed you into this. And I don’t want to come out the other side with you resenting me, or to have my expectations of you not met at all when you decide this isn’t what you really want.” She looked up at him then, gauging his reaction to her words.

Sandor sighed, but he knew where this was coming from. This was not a conventional arrangement, and so there was no precedent to show any possible outcome.

So he took her hand and led her back to the couch, sitting facing her with her small hands in his.

“Sansa, I want this baby. And I want this baby with you. You’re going to be an excellent mom.” He paused, swallowing again so as to not succumb to the emotions threatening to choke him. “Today you’ve made me the happiest man on earth, little bird.” He brought one of her hands up to kiss the back, and then gently pushed her back against the cushions of the couch. She was surprised, until Sandor lifted the edge of her sweater and pressed a kiss to her stomach.

“The happiest man on earth,” he reiterated, his silver eyes smiling up at her.

•• **•** ••

She didn’t bother to reason with herself that night when she left her bed to enter his room. He’d stayed over again, which they both should have known would happen. It had been so late by the time he was ready to go, but there’d been no way she would let him drive 75 miles in the middle of the night.

So he’d agreed to stay, in the same room he had stayed in last time. And she had known almost from the instant he said he would stay that she would join him in bed during the night.

Her plans did not include lovemaking, however. And she told herself that again and again, as she once again slid into his warm embrace and fell asleep to his gentle breathing and warm presence, this time with his large protective hand splayed over her stomach.

Somehow during the night they had switched positions, so when she woke up the following morning her head was up by the corner of the headboard, and Sandor was lying diagonally across the bed, his head pillowed against her breast, an arm slung over her middle.

From where she laid, she could clearly see the scars on his temple and scalp, the missing eyebrow, and the small bump of flesh that was the remains of his ear. 

Softly she smoothed back the few errant hairs that lay across his face, and she stroked the skin there, knowing he had little to no sensation.

But before long he stirred, and her musings took her fingers closer to his unmarked skin--over the slope of his nose, down to his cheek, and across the surface of his lips beneath his mustache.

She knew he was awake, but instead of speaking, she used her other hand to stroke his back and shoulders, enjoying this quiet time before the birds awoke outside and they both had to get out of bed.

Sansa wondered at what was going on between them. Initially Sandor was a means to an end, but he had become so much more than that. He was more than a partner now, more than her co-parent, more than the father of her baby. He was… hers. And she didn’t quite know what to think about that.

She couldn’t even pinpoint when it had happened--that shift in thinking, from Sandor being a friend and confidant, to the person she wanted to go to sleep with every night, to wake up with every morning, the one to share her body with, her successes and failures, her present and her future. She was confused, but she didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, so she let it rest.

None of her family knew of her plans to have a baby, and none of them certainly knew what she had done with Sandor a couple times over the last two months.

She had contemplated telling Arya, but then they weren’t really that close, and she was afraid Arya would tell their cousin Jon, who would definitely cave under the pressure if questioned by her father, Ned. 

Her friends at work wouldn’t understand, either. Brienne was flat-out against kids, and wouldn’t understand why Sansa wanted one. And Daenerys would scold her for not having a child with someone she loved, someone she planned on spending the rest of her life with.

Not that she  _ wouldn’t _ want to spend the rest of her life with Sandor. They had just… not reached a point where she felt comfortable talking about that… yet… Relationship stuff, she supposed.

And love? He had called her “love” that one time, and it had stuck with her. But now, knowing his reaction to the pregnancy, and how he had cared for her and spent time with her and made her laugh, soothing her when she cried--she knew that what she was feeling for him was the beginnings of love.

It was only the beginnings, though, because she wasn’t going to allow herself to travel further down that road not knowing if he was going to be travelling with her.

•• **•** ••

“There it is,” Dr. Luwin was saying. He held the ultrasound wand inside Sansa with one hand, using his other to point to a tiny dot on the screen.

Just knowing a man was touching Sansa in such an intimate manner was grating on Sandor’s nerves, despite having spoken with Dr. Luwin at length about what the exam entailed. He seemed to be a nice enough man, perhaps in his mid seventies with a very polite and cordial bedside manner.

But… Still. He was touching Sansa where only Sandor was allowed to touch her.

Okay, he wasn’t exactly  _ allowed _ to touch her, as they had achieved their goal in conceiving a child, and thus were not in need of intimate relations any longer.

But… Still…

Sansa was at ease, her own hand completely hidden within both of Sandor’s as he sat beside the exam table.

_ Their baby _ . That tiny little dot on the screen. It was barely a blip, though Dr. Luwin still used the finger pad on the machine to add two dots to the screen, measuring the little blob.

It was pretty amazing, knowing that inside Sansa’s completely flat stomach, another life grew. A life they’d made.

If Sandor had been an emotional man, he may have cried at the ultrasound image.

Sansa was--when she turned to smile at him, it was through the tears that were streaming down her face. He had to chuckle at her, and he reached for a tissue.

“Our baby,” she said quietly, gasping a bit when the ultrasound wand was removed. Sandor squeezed her hand in support, eyeing the doctor to make sure there was no funny business going on.

He handed them a printout of the baby and left them so Sansa could get cleaned up. Sandor turned his back, though he made sure to ask her if she needed assistance.

“No, you brat,” she said from behind him, laughing. He imagined her using the tissues to wipe off the lubrication jelly Dr. Luwin had used, and was instantly aroused.

Not long afterwards they sat at a street side cafe, Sansa sipping a decaf latte and Sandor holding a cup of his usual black coffee. Between them on the table sat the image, pinned down by the sugar container so it wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.

“Blip,” Sandor muttered, still in awe of what they had done.

“Excuse me?” Sansa laughed, setting her cup down. Sandor watched her tongue dart out to catch a drop of coffee that had slipped down her lip. He shifted in his chair, not wanting to focus on her.

“Blip,” he repeated. “That’s all it is right now, is a blip on the screen.”

“So we should call it Blip?”

Her eyes were twinkling in the afternoon sun, but she looked so damned happy. Sandor couldn’t prevent the smile from spreading on his own face. He reached over impulsively and took her hand.

“Yeah, for now.” Still holding her hand, he looked again at the ultrasound. “Blip,” he repeated, realizing that he was already fond of the little guy.

“Blip,” Sansa agreed, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.

•• **•** ••

Sandor moved in the next day. They did not tell anyone in her family.

Sansa helped him move his things from the truck up into the room that he had now claimed as his. She didn’t say out loud her thoughts, but already Sandor had more things in her house than Joffrey ever did at any one time. 

His can of protein powder went on the counter beside the coffee maker. His toiletries went in the upstairs hallway bathroom. She hung his clothes on hangers in the closet while he brought in the free weights he’d keep here, insisting that now that she was pregnant, he would be here for her so she wouldn’t have to do anything strenuous or risky.

That meant no changing light bulbs, no matter what-- _ his _ rules.

She’d bristled a little at that, but when she stood back and examined his motives, it was obvious this was one more tick on the checklist of what made him an excellent father. He was looking out for her, and therefore also looking out for the baby.

Sandor still had his job in the next city over so he wasn’t at the house every night, but three or four nights a week he made sure to make the commute. And on weekends he stayed all day, from Friday afternoon to Sunday night.

There had been no more sex, which Sansa had mixed feelings about. But every night she still crept over to his room and joined him in bed, most times being welcomed into the circle of his embrace but sometimes also curling around his back when he was already fast asleep.

For that first month things were good between them. They managed to keep the sexual tension at bay by sheer force of will, though neither spoke of it. Sansa suspected Sandor had concerns about engaging in sexual activities because of the baby, while she was afraid of the emotional entanglement.

She already loved him. It was only a matter of time before she caved and welcomed him into  _ her _ bed.

She had finally been able to convince her family that she was all right after her breakup with Joffrey. Catelyn had been concerned, but Sansa felt it soon became obvious to them that she was once again happy, although they were oblivious as to exactly why.

The Independence Day get together came and went, with Sandor and Sansa arriving and leaving in separate vehicles, although they actually drove together, with Sandor pausing at the end of the driveway to give the illusion that Sansa had arrived ahead of him. They hadn’t discussed when she would tell her family, but Sandor acknowledged at least that she would be the one to determine when that happened.

Three weeks after they learned they were pregnant, morning sickness hit. Except with Sansa it ended up being all-day sickness. Dr. Luwin assured them it would pass, and as he handed them the ultrasound of a bigger Blip to take home with them, Sansa had turned and heaved up the contents of her stomach into the trash can at the doctor’s office.

It was later that night when Sandor found her asleep, head resting on the seat of her toilet, that he told her he didn’t want her sleeping alone anymore.

And that’s how it came to be that Sandor moved into her room.

•• **•** ••

For what seemed like the twentieth time that weekend, Sandor held Sansa’s hair back as she vomited into the toilet.

“I’m sorry,” she choked as her torso heaved, nothing coming up but her body insisting on heaving anyway. 

Sandor handed her the wet washcloth and rubbed her back, shushing her and loving her and feeling guilty, all at the same time.

He’d done this to her. He couldn’t believe pregnancy could be this rough on a woman’s body, and he was the one who had put his seed inside her, and who had planted the baby inside her womb.

“Gods, Sansa, I’m the one who’s sorry. I mean, I love the baby and all but it’s hard to see you like this.”

She sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the cloth as he let go of her hair. Then he sat on the floor with his back against the tub and pulled her slight frame onto his lap.

She had lost a bit of weight with the morning sickness, though not enough to be worried about. She sat now in her nightgown, hair drawn over one shoulder with her forehead resting against his neck. She felt clammy and cool, and he wished there was something he could do for her.

“What do you want? A drink? A toothbrush?”

Sansa snorted against his neck, but she shook her head.

“This, Sandor. Just… this.” And before long she was asleep in his arms, and he was carrying her back to her bed.

They suffered through that for weeks--nearly two months as the baby grew inside her and Sandor found more and more reasons to love her. Despite the sickness she still attempted to cook sometimes, though the smells often sent her to the bathroom retching up absolutely nothing. 

And she let him pick the movie they watched more and more, so that they eventually would watch a fairly equal amount of rom-coms and Jason Statham movies. 

She would also rub his back when she woke in the morning, often as her way of waking him up but also because she just knew he liked it. There was no better way to spend the early minutes of his morning than with his head pillowed against her breast and her slight hands tracing circles and sweeping lines across his back.

And through it all he wanted her, still. 

When she walked out of the bathroom wearing that short black nightgown and a towel wrapped around her hair, he wanted her.

When she was cleaning in the kitchen, dancing to music blasting from the speaker on the corner of the counter, he wanted her.

And when she scooted closer to him during the night so he could wrap his arm around her, in a position he had found was her favorite to fall asleep in, he wanted her.

All the time he was assailed with thoughts of her and the things they had done--the way they’d made love, the way she had come apart in his arms when they’d woken up spooning that one morning. And the kisses-- _ Gods _ , the kisses. He missed those.

Currently they did nothing but cuddle, and though he was happy at least doing that, he wanted more. His body wanted more, and nearly every morning started off with a freezing cold shower before he finally greeted her downstairs in the kitchen.

Then finally, a job opened up in her town and he jumped on it, though it was a slight decrease in pay for an increase in duties. But it was a good paying position with opportunities for advancement, as the securities business had a high rate of turnover. Plus his commute went from 75 miles one way, to working just two miles from their house. This meant that he took up running again, and often strapped on a backpack with his uniform inside and jogged to work.

Things were good, until one evening when he came home from work, and Sansa was in the living room, pacing like a caged animal.

As soon as he opened the door she turned on him, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides as she took in his appearance--hot and sweaty, and in sore need of a shower.

It was barely a moment later when she launched herself at him.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

Sansa hadn’t thrown up all day, but there had been another physiological shift that had happened shortly after Sandor had left for his run to work, one she couldn’t explain nor really understood until he walked in the door that evening.

She had been restless all day, cleaning and sorting and organizing until there was nothing left in the house that was out of place. She arranged Sandor’s clothes closet in the spare bedroom by color, the mugs in the cabinet by size, and the utensils in her kitchen drawer by type, color, and size.

But all day she felt like her skin was crawling, and that there was one thing that would give her relief from the pressure building inside her body.

When Sandor walked into the house that night, Sansa was pacing, restless enough that her legs wouldn’t allow her to sit still. She turned as he opened the door, walked in, and shut the door before turning to her.

He was covered in a sheen of sweat, and the front of his tank top had a dark patch in the center of his chest. Several wisps of hair stuck together with wetness, and as he dropped his backpack beside the door she watched the movement of his arm muscles, gliding and rippling beneath the tanned skin.

Sansa’s mouth watered. She knew deep down that they weren’t supposed to do anything. That they were friends and co-parents and roommates, and that the sex had just been a tool to conceive the baby and not for the immense amount of pleasure it had actually given both of them.

But none of that mattered right now, and she found her feet moving towards him at an alarming rate until she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. She was glad when he merely hoisted her up, smashing his lips to hers and his stomach to her belly, as she grabbed hold of his hair in her fists.

“You’re home,” she gasped between kisses, pleased to feel him responding beneath her. 

Without hesitation, his lips moved against hers, his hands held her body close, and he growled his arousal as she ground her hips into his hardness.

“Sandor, I need you...” She nearly choked on the words, at once wondering what unnatural forces were taking over her body but more than that, feeling as though she would positively die if he did not fuck her at that very moment. 

His hands roamed her back as she trailed kisses over his cheek, down his throat, swiping her tongue across the center of his neck between his clavicles. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Sansa,” he rasped, squeezing her butt where his big hand held her to him.

“Yes--please!” 

Ever courteous, she made her request known and he did not disappoint.

Before she could formulate a plan of action she was on the floor on her back, grasping for him as he pulled away long enough to drag her shorts and panties off her legs. She quickly sat up to aid him in removing his own bottoms but found there was no need when he merely lowered them to his knees, pushing her back to cover her body with his own.

“Yesss,” she hissed when she felt him pressing against her, “Yes! Now, Sandor, I can’t wait--”

Her words cut off in a strangled cry as he entered her in one swift stroke.

“Fucking hells, Sansa, what--you--do--to me.” 

His words were punctuated by his frantic thrusts, and Sansa clawed at him, not able to get close enough. She could smell his musk, as he’d stopped wearing cologne when they realized it was making her vomit. But the scent now assailing her senses fueled her passion and she wanted to touch him,  _ needed _ to touch him.

He paused only long enough for her to drag his shirt off before he resumed his movements, the harsh hardwood floor at her back and his heavy, solid body above her.

This was what she wanted,  _ this _ was why she had felt like a caged animal all day. She’d needed him, his body, his cock inside her, and nothing she’d done had assuaged her lust. She ran her hands over him, delighting at the slickness of his skin and the heat of his body, running her hands quickly over his shoulders, his chest, his neck.

But when she went to kiss him he paused, suddenly wrapping his arms around her so he could haul her up against him as he sat back on his heels.

_ Ahhhh, this _ , she thought. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck she once again crushed her mouth to his, biting and licking and tasting his tongue as he made love to her mouth and her body. His hands landed on her butt and he guided her, lifting and thrusting and somehow driving himself into her while upright in movements Sansa didn’t care to examine because they just felt  _ so damned good _ .

He was going to have scratches on him, she knew, and she didn’t care. It was obvious he didn’t care either, as every time she thought she might be too zealous in her clawing, he would growl into her mouth and thrust harder, deeper, until Sansa threw her head back and cried out as her orgasm crashed through her.

Sandor’s cry was as guttural as her own as she felt him swell within her, as his own climax ripped from him a growl as he bit into her neck.

It was so overwhelmingly primal, so  _ base instinct _ that Sansa felt tears prick her eyes, the satisfaction she’d just gained from their coming together unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

Sandor was breathing heavy, his mouth now soothing the mark he’d left as he bit her, using his tongue to swipe at her own now-sweaty skin. Going from the harsh feel of his teeth to the warmth of his tongue made her muscles clench around him and he groaned, resting his mouth against her skin as they sat there, catching their breath.

When at last he lifted his head, his hands still holding her to him with fingers splayed over her bottom, he rested his forehead against hers, wetness to wetness.

And he chuckled, a husky sound that made her exposed skin flush with goosebumps as she shivered at the sound.

“I’m, uh…” She chuckled as well, shaking her head against his as her eyes drifted closed and then open again. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, but she also was. Sandor sighed, though his lips were turned slightly upwards in the barest hint of a smile.

“I’m not.” 

The words made her lean back to look at him. His face was so close to hers, so handsome and manly and  _ so Sandor _ . He smiled, his scars pulling tight at the corner of his eye.

“You’re not?” she asked quietly, attempting to tamp down the regret she felt at breaking their unspoken code of conduct. It hadn’t needed to be said--a respectful distance was what would make their arrangement work. 

And she had ruined it.

But Sandor shook his head, pulling in one side of his lower lip under his teeth in a look that made her heart skip a beat. He seemed to ponder his words before he spoke again.

“That was the best  _ coming _ -home I’ve ever had.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open, and then she laughed, smacking his shoulder lightly with her hand. But then she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his bare shoulder, letting her arms go limp as one of his hands slid up to her back beneath her shirt. She could feel the slickness of her skin, wet with sweat from their exertions.

“So you’re not upset?” Even to her, her voice still sounded slightly unsure.

Sandor shifted, letting himself slip out of her as he stretched his legs out, keeping her straddling him now that his back was to the door.

“Why would I be upset?”

Sansa replied into his shoulder.

“Because we’re not supposed to be doing this. We’re not…” She paused, swallowed, thought about what she wanted to say now that she felt completely sated and the restless feeling was barely a memory.

“We’ve already made the baby,” she continued, “so this part isn’t necessary.”

“Necessary for what?”

Again she sighed, feeling uncomfortable talking about it, uncomfortable calling it what it was. 

“For our arrangement.”

Sandor inhaled deeply, Sansa’s chest rising and falling in time with his movements. 

•• **•** ••

_ So that’s why she’s unsure now _ , Sandor thought, though he should have expected it. Coming home to find her wet and ready for him, animalistic in her need for him, had been a total shock. But giving into her need--and to his, if he was being honest with himself--hadn’t felt unnatural at all. It had felt… Right.

So when he spoke it was with measured words, but words he hoped she would take to heart. He barely managed to keep his love for her out of his tone--just barely.

“I’m not upset, Sansa, at all. Like I said, this was a very nice homecoming.” She laughed into his shoulder, shifting so her cheek rested against his skin and her nose pushed into his neck. He felt her inhale deeply at the contact and marvelled that she could find his smell so pleasing.

“As for our arrangement, well...“ 

He hesitated, anxious to see how she would receive his words. He knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure  _ she _ knew what  _ she _ wanted. Because if she really wanted a platonic co-parent, roommate agreement, then what the hells had  _ this _ been?

“As for that, we’re already sleeping in the same bed. We already hold each other every night. Why would it be wrong to indulge our other… appetites?” He tightened his hold on her, wrapping his arms around her middle even as the heat radiating from her core threatened to ready him for round two. “I enjoy it, Sansa. I enjoy  _ you _ .  _ Being _ with you, in every sense of the word. Do you think less of me for feeling that way?”

He knew her answer but needed to know that she knew it as well. And he needed her to see the same in herself.

Sansa shook her head slightly, and her fingertips rose to caress the skin of his sides, as though she was incapable of just sitting completely still on top of him.

“No, I don’t think less of you for that. I mean, you’re my dad’s friend, which is kind of an awkward thought, and you’re older than me, but…”

Another pause, but he let her compile her thoughts as he stroked her back beneath her shirt. They were both in sore need of a shower.

“I like this, Sandor.” Her voice was honest and true, rock steady, as though she’d come to a decision while sitting on his lap just now. “I like living here with you, sleeping with you, cuddling with you, knowing that you and I are going to have a baby. And… And I like  _ this _ , being  _ with _ you. The sex, the  _ foreplay _ \--” her voice rose on the last word and he chuckled.

“Well, we didn’t do that just now.”

Sansa laughed, too.

“And I like that,” she said softly. “I like laughing with you, and how we get along so well, and how you take care of me and how you care  _ for _ me. I never expected that, honestly.”

“Never expected what?”

Sansa’s resolve seemed to waiver and Sandor found himself holding his breath. He sensed that whatever she was about to say, that it was going to be extremely important.

“I never expected that you would develop feelings for me.”

_ Oh, fuck _ .

“I never expected to return those feelings.”

_ Oh, shit _ .

“I never expected to find this with you, here in my house, so soon after breaking off a ten-year relationship.”

_ That little fucker has no idea what he lost _ .

He didn’t know how, but his secret had gotten out. He closed his eyes and swallowed, hating that his plan hadn’t worked out the way he’d wanted it to, but liking that somehow it was better--that it had just come to fruition a bit earlier than he’d expected.

But that also meant that now it was fragile, a fact that wasn’t lost on him at all. They were now in a tentative spot in their--it wasn’t an arrangement anymore. This was a relationship. They were in a tentative spot in their relationship and it needed to be nurtured and sheltered and fed and loved, or else it was going to fade, something would go wrong, and before they realized what was happening it would have died when they were looking the other way and in the end they would truly be living like a divorced couple raising a child.

And  _ holy fucking hells _ , he did not want that.

She hadn’t spoken of love, per se, but he knew at least in part that that was what she was alluding to. So he stayed silent on that subject and addressed her statements, again helping her come to the conclusions she needed to come to.

“So you’re not upset with me?”

“No, Sandor, I’m not upset with you.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“And I can still sleep in your bed?”

A chuckle was her answer, and she flattened her palms against his sides, nodding into his neck.

“And we can do this more often?” He used his hands to rock her pelvis against him, to rub her core against his growing erection. Sansa moaned against his skin, and he felt her scrape her teeth across his pulse point.

“You’ll take my flowers when I bring them to you?”

She nodded.

“And let me make you breakfast in bed?”

Her tongue came out to lick at his neck, at the saltiness he knew she’d find there.

“And parent this baby with me, not  _ co _ -parent?”

Her voice was a breathless sigh that tickled his flesh and inflamed his lust.

“Oh, Sandor…

•• **•** ••

It was a good thing Sansa had a non-slip mat in the bottom of her tub, because Sandor never would have been able to hold her up, thrust into her, and keep his footing in the shower they shared just a short while later. 

And  _ oh _ , it was marvelous.

Things changed between them after that, but Sandor was true to his word. On the rare occasion he drove to work, she found out it was because he either wanted to bring home dinner, or flowers, or a new movie for them to watch together before they made love on the couch.

And if he ran to work it was because he knew she would wait for him at the door when he got home, always clothed but more than ready to let him undress her so she could press her body up against his own slick skin.

They spent many nights in bed cuddling after making love, with Sandor’s hand on her belly because when she laid on her back there was a little bump that wouldn’t flatten when she was prone. Sandor loved it, loved everything about it, and would lay with his mouth pressed against her stomach, much to Sansa’s delight.

She seemed to revel in his enthusiasm for his role of father. The two times he’d come home with a new toy to add to her baby tote, she’d cried, admitting that part of it was likely pregnancy hormones. 

Then there was the time she’d found him in the department store in the baby section, looking at clothes while she’d been just on the other side of the wall getting whatever feminine hygiene products she’d needed, and they almost embarrassed themselves when she’d shown him her appreciation by reaching for the front of his jeans.

The most pleasant thing that changed in their relationship, according to him at least, was that the amount of touches increased exponentially. This he wasn’t used to, but he found himself liking every bit of it.

She would trail her hand across his stomach when she passed him in the hallway.

If he was sitting on the couch as she walked by, she would run a hand down his hair, or stop to massage his shoulders for a moment, or she’d lean down to press kisses to his scars, or his cheek, or his neck.

And as they drove, her hand was a constant presence somewhere on his body--his bicep, his forearm, when they were holding hands, or on his thigh. She wanted to touch him all the time, and he never once found a reason to tell her to stop.

So he began doing the same thing to her, and discovered that she seemed to like it just as much as he did.

He would come up behind her while she was cooking and wrap his arms around her, kissing her neck when she tilted her head to the side.

He stroked her hair as she laid against his chest at night, her breaths slowing and evening to his touches.

And he held her hand in stores, which often led to her clasping his bicep and clinging to him as though she was afraid he would disappear. Come to find out, she liked to press her breasts against him inconspicuously, so that only he knew what she was doing.  _ The tease _ .

Everything was perfect. They were a couple, there was no doubt about it. The only thing that hadn’t transpired was the exchange of the word “love” which seemed to hover over them like some sort of bright cloud just waiting to drench them in thick, syrupy happiness. Sandor waited, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before he couldn’t keep his feelings hidden anymore.

As it turned out, that day was foisted on him earlier than he expected.

Sansa was coming up on the six-month mark. Her body was round in all the right places, and she was positively glowing with pregnancy--her hair was thick and luscious, her skin clear and bright, and she positively oozed joy in everything she did. Sandor was finding it impossible to not watch her every minute that he was home, such was the happiness that her presence in his life gave him.

Until the day Ned knocked on the door, an unexpected visit that wreaked havoc on their peace of mind.

•• **•** ••

“Oh my gods, it’s Dad.”

Sansa looked over at Sandor, chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter. His face was clear of expression but she could see the unease in his eyes.

There was absolutely no way around this. Even if she shooed Sandor back into the downstairs bedroom or hid him behind the shower curtain, there was no denying a man’s presence--his jackets hanging beside hers on the coat rack, his gym bag by the door, his massive shoes and boots beside hers on the shoe mat. 

There wasn’t enough time to do anything about it, and so she quickly walked up to Sandor, needing fortifying contact before she opened that door.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded, and he didn’t disappoint. He dropped the knife, cupped her face between his hands and plundered her mouth with his tongue for the barest moment before she tore herself away. And with one last look into his eyes, in which she bared her heart for him to see, with feelings she had as of yet left unspoken, she nodded and turned.

•• **•** ••

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Ned’s quiet authority resounded in the small living room where Sansa stood, now clad in one of Sandor’s sweaters to hide Blip’s bump. Sandor stood beside her, her hand hidden within his much larger one.

“Hi dad!” Sansa said again, but Sandor felt a drop of sweat slide down the center of his back.

“Sansa, your mom hasn’t heard from you beyond a smattering of texts, and she wanted me to come down to check on you.” He shook his head, his hair swaying, his teeth clenching. Sandor decided this is what Ned looked like when he was upset. Calm. Controlled. 

Sansa dropped his hand and stepped towards Ned, a wide smile plastered to her face.

“As you can see, I’m fine, Dad. What brought you all this way? Surely not just me--it’s late and you can’t possibly drive all the way back home tonight.”

Ned’s gaze hadn’t left Sandor’s, and he struggled to not feel five feet tall under the older man’s intense scrutiny.

“I’m just passing through--there is a possible contract in the next town and I won’t be staying long.” Sandor wondered if Ned expected burned holes to appear where Sandor’s eyes were. “Would you please tell me, Sandor, what your business is here with my daughter?”

So quiet. Ned’s voice was flat but direct. He expected an answer.

“Daddy, Sandor and I have been seeing each other for a few months now.”

Sandor gave it away with a blink at her fib, and Ned’s eyebrow rose. He’d caught it, so now he looked at Sansa.

“And Independence Day? You two showed no signs of an affiliation, and that was barely three months ago.”

Sandor watched Sansa’s neck move as she swallowed, and she glanced back at him.  _ Gods, she would be terrible at poker _ .

“We weren’t sure we wanted to make it public at that point,” she hedged.

“Does he live here?”

Another swallow.

“Yes.”

Ned seemed to process that for a moment.

“And you’re happy?”

“Oh, yes, dad. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Again, he thought on that, though this time he nodded as his gaze returned to Sandor.

“I would like to speak to him privately, Sansa.”

She bristled, instantly coming to Sandor’s defense. 

“Daddy, I don’t think that’s necessary. Sandor is an honorable man and I’m happy, isn’t that enough? Do you need to question everything?”

He turned to her, reaching for her hand and taking it within his own.

“Is it any less than what your mother would do if she was here? And you know I report back to her.”

He dropped a kiss on her knuckles and Sandor’s heart twisted. His immediate thought was, if they had a daughter, would she love him as much as Sansa loved Ned?

But Sansa was speaking, nodding at her father and telling Sandor she’d be upstairs, and to come get her when they were done. But before she walked out she passed Sandor, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze as though to say  _ Sorry _ as she walked away.

Sandor and Ned stood for a few moments, not quite sizing each other up, but Sandor had a gnawing and distinct feeling of being appraised by the older man. To combat the nervousness he felt, he motioned for the living room.

“Sit?” he asked, not presuming to address the area as though he had any ownership over it. But Ned seemed to understand, and he nodded.

Ned took a corner of the couch, while Sandor sat in the arm chair at the opposite end.

“So, would you please care to tell me how I’ve come to find you in my daughter’s home, in a relationship with her, and her very clearly pregnant beneath that _ ridiculous _ sweater?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading! You guys are amazing!
> 
> I love these two <3 I always have so much fun writing them. One more chapter to go!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to see this end! but I hope everyone has enjoyed reading my little smut-tastic fic. 
> 
> You know how it goes - an idea forms and NEEDS to be written. This is the product of my overactive imagination <3
> 
> Don't forget to check back in on my profile to see what I post next!!

 

Sansa couldn’t sit. Just below her she could hear murmured voices, her father’s strong, Northern voice and Sandor’s deep timbre, resonating through the house’s construction. 

The wondering would drive her insane; wondering what her father was going to say or do. It’s not that she thought they might come to blows over her honor, but Ned had a way of setting even the largest of men--of which Sandor was obviously one--in their place with a softly worded reprimand.

She paced around the large bed she shared with Sandor, fondly remembering with a blush the last time he’d spread her legs and feasted on her, and how she had come apart into a million pieces, only to be brought together again by the sensation of him filling her completely.

That was just a few days ago, but it still made her flush and feel the stirrings of need deep within her belly.

His t-shirt was haphazardly flung over the footboard and she picked it up, bringing it to her face to inhale his scent, knowing that even now, months after she had first pressed her face into his chest and cried over the loss of her dream, that smell still roused in her a carnal instinct to seek its owner.

She straightened and walked to the small desk, where his phone now sat next to his work laptop and an empty cup of coffee from this morning. He had sat there, going over the morning news as she’d taken a shower just through the bathroom door.

The domesticity of it all made her want to weep. Seven months ago she had thought her life ruined, and now, because of that giant of a man who was now being interrogated by her father downstairs, she had never been happier.

But she couldn’t go to him--knew from years of living with the Stark patriarch that Ned would expect privacy right now as he calmly dealt with this new development. 

Sansa put her hand on her belly. In just a few days they would have the appointment with Dr. Luwin that would tell them if they were having a boy or a girl, and she didn’t know what she would want more--a boy, with gray eyes and red hair, or a girl with black hair and blue eyes. But she knew it really didn’t matter, because the blessing in it all is that the child she carried inside her was a product of her and Sandor, the man she loved.

As she rubbed her stomach through his large sweater she nodded to herself, making a decision that could impact the rest of her life.

Tonight she would tell him she loved him. He needed to know. Deserved to know. And whatever the outcome was of this meeting with her father, they would come out of it together; stronger, a family.

•• **•** ••

“How did you know?”

Sandor was floored. Ned knew about the baby.

“Sandor, I lived with that girl for eighteen years. I’m fairly familiar with her, and I would think it strange if she suddenly developed a paunch without putting on weight elsewhere.”

Sandor gulped. Ned was right, but Sansa had no idea her father knew.

“Now,” Ned said, clasping his hands between his knees, “I would like some answers.”

Sandor could do nothing but nod.

“First, is the baby Joffrey’s?”

For the first time in a long time, Sandor saw red.

“Abso-fucking-lutely  _ not _ .” He didn’t even bother to apologize for using profanity, such was his disgust at the idea. That piss-poor excuse of a man was mere shit on his shoes, and he wouldn’t hesitate to tell anyone he thought so.

But to his surprise, Ned just calmly nodded. Then he looked up at Sandor, his face expectant.

“Is it yours?”

Sandor didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, it is.”

Again, that nod. What was this about? Why was Ned not showing anger?

But then a quiet “Good, good,” came from Ned’s mouth and Sandor fell back against the cushion. “And I’m assuming you’ve known for quite some time? Did it happen when we sent you down here to check on her?”

“No sir,” Sandor replied, not able to hide the shock in his voice at Ned’s calm demeanor.

“Hmm. But you two did have… relations… and a baby was the result? Am I correct in assuming the baby was not planned?”

Sandor rubbed a hand down his face, staring at the older man. This was the strangest conversation he’d ever had with anyone.

“Actually, the baby  _ was _ planned. She is almost six months along now.”

Ned nodded, looking down at his hands as he pondered what Sandor was saying. But his brows furrowed and he spoke without raising his eyes.

“So she broke up with Joffrey and two months later decided to have a child with you?”

“No, sir. It was one month after she broke up with Joffrey.”

At that, Ned again raised his gaze. His eyes bore into Sandor’s and Sandor wished he knew what Ned was looking for.

“That surprises me. Sansa is usually fairly level-headed.”

“With all due respect, sir,” he stated, his voice lowering, “Sansa was extremely level headed. The fact of the matter is, she had been level headed for years and it was Joffrey who just refused to catch up. So when I came over to check on her, she knew what she wanted and that was a baby.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, despite them being the gods’ honest truth, he realized how bad they were going to sound. He just barely managed not to cover his own damned mouth with his hand.

“And you gave her one,” Ned said. It was not a question.

Sandor choked on the words, so he merely nodded.

“Well…” The word was said to fill the void, but there was obviously nothing following it. He and Ned sat in silence while Sansa’s father assembled his thoughts and assimilated this new information.

Sandor wondered what Sansa was doing upstairs, as he heard her moving around, her footsteps creaking quietly through the older ceiling.

When Ned spoke again, it was with an added nod as he lifted his eyes to Sandor’s.

“Does she know you love her?”

“Sir?” Sandor’s voice broke, so astonished was he that Ned had sorted him out so fast.

“I’m not daft, Sandor. Nor am I clueless. Sansa was right about you--you are an honorable man. I am confidant that you would not have done this without enough thought ahead of time, nor would you have entered into this kind of…” He floundered for a word here, so Sandor supplied it.

“Arrangement.”

“Yes, arrangement, thank you. You would not have entered into this kind of arrangement, I am certain, without some basis of feelings for my daughter, and try as you might, you have not been completely able to hide them over the years.”

Again, Sandor was speechless. He barely choked out a  _ Come again? _ as he stared back at Sansa’s father.

“Didn’t you think it odd that we would send you, a man nearly old enough to be her father, down to check on her? We saw the way you looked at her a long time ago, me more so than Catelyn, though eventually even she couldn’t deny it. And there was always a polite rapport between you and Sansa. Although I must say,” he almost smiled there, but shook his head in befuddlement instead, “I never expected  _ this _ . But I was hoping that you would perhaps convince her to turn her eyes away from Joffrey to more rewarding prospects.” He lifted his brow again and looked directly at Sandor, his implied  _ “You” _ loud and clear.

At that Ned stood, and Sandor was more confused than ever. He felt… tricked. And astonished, that apparently long ago Ned had deemed Sandor worthy of dating his oldest daughter.

Sandor followed suit and stood, towering over the older man by a head, his mouth parted in puzzlement as he watched Ned extend his hand for a handshake.

As Sandor grasped it and shook, Ned did smile up at him. 

“There’s no one I would have rather trusted her into the care of, Sandor. Take care of her, and for the love of the gods, tell her you love her before she starts to assume you don’t.”

Sandor nodded slowly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And my grandchild, as well. I will leave it up to you and Sansa to tell the rest of the family, but don’t wait too long. I am as powerless to Catelyn’s pestering as I am sure you are of Sansa’s.”

Ned turned, walking towards the staircase while Sandor remained in the living room, rooted to the spot by the revelation he’d just been presented with.

“Oh, and Sandor?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m going to like having you as a son-in-law.”

•• **•** ••

“Lemoncake.” The sound of her father’s voice in the door had her turning quickly, the t-shirt still held to her face now dropping to her side.

Ned stood in the doorway to the bedroom, and Sansa had no idea how long he’d watched her inhaling Sandor’s scent through the shirt. Embarrassed, she held it in her fist as she approached her father.

“Let me begin by saying that I hope in the future, you feel comfortable to come to me with anything you have going on in your life, including things as big as new relationships with family friends.” He raised an eyebrow in polite admonishment, but the love for her he held shone through his eyes, and she merely nodded and wrapped her arms around him.

By the time she realized what was different about this hug compared to all their previous hugs, it was too late to pull back. But when she tried anyway, Ned just held her tight.

“I know, Sansa. And I’m happy for you.”

And that was why Sandor found her sobbing into her father’s shoulder, thankful for this special love her father had for her, and now for his unborn grandchild.

A short time later when it was time for him to move onto the next town and get his hotel room, she hugged him again at the door, then watched as Sandor shook Ned’s hand with genuine appreciation for the older man.

“You two take care of each other, and call me if you need anything.” He slipped his boots on and tied them, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack before shooting over his shoulder, “Remember what I said, Sandor.”

“Yes sir,” came Sandor’s reply as the door shut behind Ned.

“What was that about?”

But Sandor merely inhaled deeply and let out the biggest sigh as he dragged her into his arms.

“Man talk,” he said, making Sansa smile. It sounded so silly, though she knew something had happened between Sandor and Ned while she’d been upstairs.

Sansa’s libido was in overdrive that night as she rode Sandor on the couch, not even bothering to finish the movie they’d been watching. It had been simple to lift her nightgown revealing a glaring lack of underwear, and to slide his sweats down just enough that he was out and up and ready for her to claim.

But she thought there was also something different about it, as Sandor seemed to watch her more than usual, seemed to be memorizing the look of her, the feel of her, more than his usual participation level.

And when he lifted his face to kiss her mouth there was a desperation in his lips, a fervency to the way his tongue swiped and tangled with hers. And a couple times she would pull away to find his brow furrowed, the scars pulling the skin tight over his right eye.

When he abruptly stood and lifted her off the couch with him, making short work of the trek upstairs and lowering her softly to their mattress, he paused. He was still hard inside her, still held her close and overwhelmed her with the presence of his large body on hers, but there was something else--something else when he nuzzled his nose against her jaw line and kissed her chin before pressing incredibly tender kisses to her lips.

Then he pulled away and looked into her eyes, looking at first one and then the other as though he was looking for answers to a question he hadn’t asked.

With one last kiss that she tried to follow and maintain even as he pulled away, she let her head fall back, knowing finally that something was up, that something was wrong. But then he spoke, and she held her breath at what he said.

“I love you, Sansa.”

His gray eyes focused on her, his lips spread in a thin line as he let the words settle between them. Then he was bending to kiss her, stealing back the breath she held as wave after wave of love and relief and  _ love _ and  _ hope _ and  _ joy _ crashed through her. 

Once again she became frantic, feeling like she might not be in complete control of her body as he began to drive his hardness into her body. Again she clawed at him, feeling overwhelmed by the depths of her feelings for him, the realization that he felt the same for her as she did for him.

And as he reached down with his hand to find her sensitive flesh and rub her to climax, she found at her highest peak the strength and resolution to say the words back to him, “I love you, Sandor!”

•• **•** ••

“Two weeks, Sansa. You have two weeks, you can do this.” 

Sandor smiled, loving how she would shoot him dirty, smirking looks when he teased her like that. She was walking up the front steps of their home, the three steps proving to be somewhat difficult for the hugely pregnant young woman.

“Jerk,” she muttered, though there was no heat behind the word. “Come here and help me, you big brute. After all,  _ you _ did this.” She gestured to her stomach and he laughed in response, feeling enormously pleased with himself.

“Aye, that I did.”

He had turned thirty-nine just a week ago, and for his birthday Sansa had invited the entire family to her parent’s house, where she had waved at everyone from the passenger seat of Sandor’s truck. And as more people had filed out of the house to greet her, he had opened the door for her to help her down, and then the cat was out of the bag.

So as they entered their own house now, Sansa preceding him through the door, it was to find the front room filled with package after package of baby supplies, courtesy of her ridiculously large family and extended family.

That evening they went through all of it, turning the room that Sandor had initially occupied into the nursery and making sure everything had a place. Then afterwards they retired to the large whirlpool tub Sandor had surprised Sansa with on their last trip into town.

“This??” She’d been shocked when he had walked up to the counter rather than back to the aisles and aisles of products.

The box he stood next to was big, and the side showed a picture of a massive tub, more like a small hot tub than a large bathing tub.

“I bought it. Happy birthday!”

Sandor had looked extremely pleased with himself, and it didn’t escape Sansa that it was  _ his _ birthday and that the tub was big enough to easily fit both of them.

_ Her birthday, indeed _ .

After the store employees had delivered it upstairs and a professional had come by to install the tub, it was ready to try out.

And try it out they did, every night now that Sansa was having small contractions and she had found the hot water soothing to her aching muscles. It was in one of those first baths that she had called Sandor out on his duplicity, to which he’d just shrugged and smiled.

“This tub was really for you,” she said, leaning her head back against his shoulder as his hands came up to rest on her breasts. They’d gone up a cup size and Sandor never missed an opportunity to experience the newness of it.

“Guilty,” he simple replied, but he had used the position to his advantage and made sure she saw stars before they were done bathing.

So now they sat in the tub in the same position, Sansa eagerly wondering what pleasures they would find there tonight, as Sandor gently stroked every inch of skin he could reach--her shoulders, her chest, breasts, rounded stomach and soft thighs, though he did stay away from her core and she wondered why.

Her hands were resting on the strong knees that bracketed her smaller body, enjoying the way she moved with his breathing, and the growing hardness at her back. Knowing he had a direct line of sight to her front, she rose up enough for her breasts to break the water and Sandor groaned, his hands immediately coming up to cup them.

“What you do to me, woman,” he growled, and Sansa smiled, turning her face so he could press kisses to her temple. 

“I love you, Sandor,” she murmured, something that these days felt like she just couldn’t say enough. Nor could she hear it enough.

“I love you, too, Sansa, more than you’ll ever know.”

And finally,  _ finally _ , his hands wandered lower to below her belly, and he took his pleasure from giving her her’s.

•• **•** ••

“Mom, can you send in Sandor now?”

The words came out through clenched teeth.

Sandor was just going to have to deal with it. She needed him right now, not her mom.

Slightly green in the face, Sandor came back to her side then, the door of the hospital room closing behind her mom as Dr. Luwin arranged whatever it was he was arranging between her legs at the end of the table.

“Baby,” Sandor murmured, resting a hand on her forehead as she panted from the effects of the contraction. But Sansa could see his gaze dart to the doctor, to between her legs, and back to her face, looking as though the deer-in-the-headlights look would never leave his expression.

“Damnit, Sandor, you didn’t get me here fast enough. There will be no epidur-ohmygods!”

Another contraction swept through her and she grabbed his hand, doing her damnedest to crush his fingers within her grasp. 

“Honey, baby, Sansa, I’m so sorry,” he ground out, grimacing at the pain in his hand, his voice a plea for mercy despite the conciliatory words. She sensed his hand pulling away but she’d be damned if she was going to let go now. She cried out as the contraction reached its peak and began to ebb once again, leaving Sansa breathless and panting, sweat pouring off her forehead.

“It’s almost time,” Dr. Luwin said calmly, smiling up at the couple from where he stood at the end of the shortened table.

“Good, good,” Sandor replied absently, his eyes locked on Sansa. “I’m gonna faint.”

“Don’t you dare, Sandor! I need you here! I need you conscious!  _ You did this _ ,” Sansa almost cried, knowing that what she said made no sense but feeling like she needed to say it anyway, for all the pain her body was going through every few seconds. Delirious from the ordeal and from the two hours of contractions her body had already powered through, she looked at him now, tears forming in her eyes as she looked at the man who had completed her life, and whom she loved more than anything in the world.

“Sandor, I love you,” she whimpered, her tone switching to pleading. “Please don’t leave me, I love you and need you here. Please, Sandor, stay with me.”

He nodded, though she saw his adam’s apple bob beneath the hair on his neck, and his tongue came out to lick his lower lip.

“I won’t leave you, honey, I just needed some air a minute ago, I’m sorry.” He was apologetic, more so than she’d ever heard him be before.

“I can’t do this without you, baby.” Sansa shook her head, hoping he was hearing her words. “We’re going to be parents! This is really happening, Sandor, you’ve made me so--oh-my-gods-I’m-going-to-kill-you.” Another contraction travelled through her abdomen and she moaned at its intensity.

“Sandor, you’re never touching me again.”

“Yes, honey, never again, I’ll never touch you again.” He nodded, glancing down at Dr. Luwin, who had settled on a stool. 

“Sandor,” the old doctor was saying, “You’re not afraid of blood, are you? Because we can find you a stool if you think you’ll need it.”

Sansa glanced up at him, watched as he dragged his hair out of his face and then crouched back down beside Sansa’s body. 

“No, I’m okay,” he said quickly when she shot him a venomous look. 

“Okay, then it’s time. Are you ready to meet your baby?” But the doctor wasn’t waiting for a reply as he glanced up at Sansa. “When the next contraction hits I want you to push, okay?”

Sansa’s head bobbed up and down, her only possible answer as she felt the contraction build, and then there was Sandor on one side, a nurse on the other, and Dr. Luwin between her legs coaching her through the pain she was feeling as she bore down like her life depended on it.

“Ouch,” Sandor muttered, and Sansa absently wondered if that  _ pop _ in his hand was bones breaking.

“Okay, the head is out,” Dr. Luwin said encouragingly as the contraction died down. “Good job, Sansa, now one more big push and the baby should come out. Is it a boy or girl? And have you decided on a name?”

“Boy.”

“Brandon.”

Sansa and Sandor spoke together, but she felt the other contraction coming back and she dropped her head, looking back at Sandor with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Honey, I don’t think I want to do this again,” she said with a sob, as Dr. Luwin bid her to push.

“That’s okay, Sansa, I want to marry you anyway. Marry me, Sansa, be my wife and love me for the rest of your days, and I’ll do the same.”

His words came out in a rush as the baby’s body slipped from her’s, and Sansa’s head fell back again, her eyes closed at the sudden absence of intense pain she felt, now that the baby was no longer ripping her in half.

“Marry?” she asked breathless, but Sandor was no longer paying attention. He had looked on the other side of Sansa’s stomach to the aftermath of her having just given birth to their child.

And he fainted.

•• **•** ••

Sandor would never again be allowed to set foot in this damned hospital without being known as the massive father who couldn’t handle the sight of his wife’s blood on the table when she’d given birth to their first child. He would be known as the two-hundred and fifty pound, six and a half foot tall man who had fainted dead away as though he was a tiny slip of a woman.

The nurses tittered. The doctors chuckled. And he ground his teeth as he carried the baby carrier out to the truck, Sansa being pushed by a nurse in a wheelchair beside him.

“Look after him!” one nurse had called out.

“He’s got a weak stomach!” said another.

“Maybe he’s anemic!” They’d all giggled. And he knew Sansa had made friends for life with many of them.

He’d come to just moments after fainting but the damage had been done. His reputation would forever precede him.

“Meet your son, Sandor,” Dr. Luwin had said, handing the now-seated Sandor a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets. It had all been over for him from that point on--he knew his heart was full of love for Sansa and for this miniature human he held in his arms. It was like second nature to lean over and kiss his woman gently, from where she laid on the bed smiling over at him.

“What do we do when we get home?” he was asking her now, after putting the carrier with the tiny baby in it in the carrier’s base in the middle of the backseat.

Sansa smiled over at him, and he knew she was grateful that ordeal was over. The labor had been blessedly fast but apparently the pain was great. It would have been possible for her to get an epidural--possibly--if he had stepped on the gas pedal on their way to the hospital, but he’d been unwilling to endanger not only them but others on the road. Ten miles per hour over the speed limit had been fast enough, though not according to the pregnant woman in the passenger seat who screamed at him the whole way to the hospital.

Sansa had decided Sandor drove like a grandmother. Next time she was calling 9-1-1. She insisted an ambulance would have gotten her to the hospital faster.

Sandor answered his own question once they got home, and they were standing beside the crib that was temporarily located on Sansa's side of the bed. Sandor's arm was around her middle and he leaned into her back, both of them looking at tiny little Brandon Clegane, with his beautiful dusting of red hair. He was definitely perfect, Sansa had decided, and would become the best of both her and Sandor.

“I love him already, Sandor,” she whispered, so softly that he had to bend down so his ear was beside her mouth. Impulsively she landed a peck of a kiss to the scarred flesh, smiling at him when he looked into her eyes. “How is it possible for something like love to creep up on you like that?”

She looked back at the sleeping baby, already picturing how full her days of mothering were going to be, feeling such a contentment in her heart that a tear slipped out and trickled down her cheek. Sandor saw, and wiped it away with his knuckle.

“The same way mine crept up on me, for you.” He pressed his lips to her temple, lingering there as she halfway turned to hold onto his arm.

“And mine for you,” she whispered on a soft sigh. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo...
> 
> I obviously have a thing for Sansan babies.
> 
> Bear with me on that lol ;-) Cus I know there's a few of you who totally won't mind
> 
> *Cough*Lalelilolu*Cough*Cough*


End file.
